"Oh, Youth! Youth!" laughed the older man. "Are you often taken this way, Sandy?" The Tyro turned upon him the candor of an appealing smile. "Never in my life before," he said. "I give you my word of honor." "In that case," said his friend, with mock seriousness, "the life-saving expedition will try to get a rescue-line to the craft in distress." With obvious hope the Tyro's frank eyes interrogated Judge Enderby as he returned from his interview. "Still of the same mind, young man?" "Yes, sir." "Want to know her?" "I do, indeed!" "Very well. You have your wish." "You're going to present me?" "I? No, indeed." "Then--" "You say you wish to know her. Well, you do know her. At least, she says she knows you. Not all of us attain our heart's desire so simply." "Know her!" cried the amazed Tyro. "I swear I don't. Why, I could no more forget that face--" "Don't tell her that or she'll catch you up on it since she knows you have forgotten." "What is her name?" "Ah, that I'm forbidden to tell. 'If he has forgotten me so easily,' said she--and she seemed really hurt--'I think I can dispense with his further acquaintance.'" "If I should break through that piffling bodyguard now--" "If you want some rather high-priced advice for nothing," said the old and mischievous lawyer, "don't do it. You might not be well received." "Are you in the secret, then?" "Secret? Is there any secret? A very charming girl who says she knows you finds herself forgotten by you. And you've been maladroit enough to betray the fact. Naturally she is not pleased. Nothing very mysterious in that." Thereupon the pestered youth retired in distress and dudgeon to his cabin to formulate a campaign. Progress, however, seemed slow. It was a very discontented Tyro who, after luncheon, betook himself to the spray-soaked weather rail and strove to assuage his impatience by a thoughtful contemplation of the many leagues of ocean still remaining to be traversed. From this consideration he was roused by a clear, low-pitched, and extraordinarily silvery voice at his elbow. "Aren't you going to speak to me?" it said. [Illustration: "AREN'T YOU GOING TO SPEAK TO ME?"] The Tyro whirled. For a moment he thought that his heart had struck work permanently, so long did it remain inert in his throat. A sense of the decent formalities of the occasion impelled him to make a hasty catch at his cap. As he removed it, an impish windgust snatched it away from his nerveless grasp and presented it to a large and hungry billow, which straightway swallowed it and retired with a hiss of acknowledgment like a bowing Jap. The Tyro paid not the slightest heed to his loss. With his eyes fixed firmly upon the bewitching face before him,--these apparitions vanish unless held under determined regard,--he cautiously reached around and pinched himself. The Vision interpreted his action, and signalized her appreciation of it by a sort of beatified chuckle.