Had the blow landed where Mr. Quick intended it to, Dave would probably have been knocked unconscious, but he dodged just in time, and the mate, still hurling abuse at Dave, and mopping himself down with a handkerchief, turned on his heel and disappeared along the alleyway; while Dave, very crestfallen, went back to the galley for more soup. There more trouble was awaiting him, for Barnes seemed to be in the worst of tempers until he learned of the calamity. Then, however, his anger vanished and his fat sides shook with laughter. He did not love the chief mate and rejoiced exceedingly at the latter’s discomfiture. “But take my tip, Dave,” he said severely, “and keep out of that man’s way after this, or he’ll make things hot for you.” Dave, unfortunately, could not altogether keep out of Mr. Quick’s way, though he would have been glad to follow the advice. The mate was of an unforgiving nature and nursed his grievance. He set Dave to all manner of disagreeable tasks, and more than once cuffed him on slight provocation, thereby arousing the intense indignation of Barnes. “If only I could depend on the steward,” the cook said explosively, “I’d give Mr. Bloomin’ Quick something in his dinner that would do his heart good. It’s the likes of him that makes it a dog’s life at sea. Say, kid,” he went on in fiery tones, “I’ll make you eat them potato peelin’s raw if you don’t hurry up.” The weather continued rough, and the _Pacific Queen_ was nearly a week out of port before Dave began to lose the topsyturvy feeling in his stomach. What with seasickness and Mr. Quick’s studied unkindness, he felt exceedingly miserable sometimes, but he kept a stiff upper lip, thereby earning the secret admiration of Barnes, who was a good deal more human than even he suspected himself of being. When Dave was gaining his sea legs he noticed a ship, hull down, on the port bow and remembered the binoculars, which he usually kept fastened up in his suitcase. Slipping down for them, he returned, and was standing in the well-deck, peering out at the distant vessel, when the skipper passed near. “Well, sonny, what d’you make of her? Is she a pirate, or what? Those look like good glasses. Let me have a peek through them.” The captain took the binoculars, and after studying the ship on the horizon a moment, said: “These are uncommonly fine glasses. I believe they’re as good as my own, if not better. Whose are they?” “Mine, sir,” replied Dave, with a touch of pride. “Yours!” said the captain incredulously, glancing down with an air of suspicion at Dave’s clothes――an old suit that had grown much the worse for wear with rough work afloat. “Where did you get them?” the big man went on sharply. Dave flushed, stung by the suggestion conveyed in the captain’s words. He was not used to having his honesty questioned.