Before the paralysed crew could prevent him he had flung his coat into Bill’s arms and followed the master of the _Merman_ aft. As a light-weight he was rather fancied at the gymnasium, and in the all too brief exhibition which followed he displayed fine form and a knowledge of anatomy which even the skipper’s tailor was powerless to frustrate. The frenzy of the skipper as Ted assisted him to his feet and he saw his antagonist struggling in the arms of the crew was terrible to behold. Strong men shivered at his words, but Mr. Bliss, addressing him as “Whiskers,” told him to call his crew off and to come on, and shaping as well as two pairs of brawny arms round his middle would permit, endeavoured in vain to reach him. “This,” said the skipper, bitterly, as he turned to the mate, “is what you an’ me have to pay to keep up. I wouldn’t let you go now, my lad, not for a fi’ pun’ note. Deserter, that’s what you are!” He turned and went below, and Private Bliss, after an insulting address to the mate, was hauled forward, struggling fiercely, and seated on the deck to recover. The excitement passed, he lost his colour again, and struggling into his tunic, went and brooded over the side. By dinner-time his faintness had passed, and he sniffed with relish at the smell from the galley. The cook emerged bearing dinner to the cabin, then he returned and took a fine smoking piece of boiled beef flanked with carrots down to the forecastle. Private Bliss eyed him wistfully and his mouth watered. For a time pride struggled with hunger, then pride won a partial victory and he descended carelessly to the forecastle. “Can any o’ you chaps lend me a pipe o’ baccy?” he asked, cheerfully. Bill rummaged in his pocket and found a little tobacco in a twist of paper. “Bad thing to smoke on a empty stomach,” he said, with his mouth full. “’Tain’t my fault it’s empty,” said Private Bliss, pathetically. “’Tain’t mine,” said Bill. “I’ve ’eard,” said the cook, who was a tenderhearted man, “as ’ow it’s a good thing to go for a day or so without food sometimes.” “Who said so?” inquired Private Bliss, hotly. “Diff’rent people,” replied the cook. “You can tell ’em from me they’re blamed fools,” said Mr. Bliss. There was an uncomfortable silence; Mr. Bliss lit his pipe, but it did not seem to draw well. “Did you like that pot o’ six-half I stood you last night?” he inquired somewhat pointedly of Bob. Bob hesitated and looked at his plate. “No, it was a bit flat,” he said at length. “Well, I won’t stop you chaps at your grub,” said Private Bliss, bitterly, as he turned to depart. “You’re not stopping us,” said Ted, cheerfully. “I’d offer you a bit, only—” “Only what?” demanded the other. “Skipper’s orders,” said Ted. “He ses we’re not to. He ses if we do it’s helping a deserter, and we’ll all get six months.” “But you’re helping me by having me on board,” said Private Bliss; “besides, I don’t want to desert.”