“They were my father’s, sir,” he said, unconsciously drawing himself up. “Dad said I might use them. They were given to him by a pilot after Dad had saved his life.” “All right, lad; don’t ever get cross with the captain,” the big man said, in kindly fashion, patting the boy’s shoulder. “But take my advice and look after those binoculars in your travels, because they’re worth as much as you’ll earn in a month of Sundays.” Still feeling a little wounded, Dave was returning the glasses to the suitcase, when one of the deck hands informed him that Mr. Quick wanted him immediately and was “raging something ’orrible.” The boy hurried away without locking the case up, and found Mr. Quick had upset a bottle of some evil-smelling liquid over the floor of his cabin. He was wiping it up, fuming, and calling for a bucket of hot water, all at the same time. Dave was fully occupied for ten minutes and then, remembering the glasses, returned to lock the case. To his dismay they had disappeared. That they had been stolen was obvious. There could be no other explanation. And he had promised his father to take such care of them! In consternation he sought the cook. Barnes grew red with indignation. “It’s dollars to doughnuts one of them engine-room scum has done it,” he declared. “_I’ll_ see into this.” The second engineer was on friendly terms with the cook, and Barnes readily enlisted his sympathy. “I’ll speak to the chief,” he said, “and we’ll make a search.” Making a search, however, was not as easy as it sounded. The only hope was that the thief had not had time to secrete the glasses in one of the many inaccessible nooks with which every ship abounds. Barnes and the second engineer together went through the men’s quarters, but without success. Those deck-hands who were off duty――as a class, deck-hands hate a thief on board like poison――offered to join in the search, and soon half a dozen men were rummaging in every hole and corner. Dave’s hopes were sinking lower and lower. He was beginning to regard the glasses as gone forever, when Barnes started to ferret about in the after wheel-house; and there he came upon them hidden away on the top of a beam. “You’re not fit to have a ten-cent spy-glass,” he snorted, glaring at Dave from under his fearsome eyebrows. “In my locker they’ll stay now till we finish the trip, except when I take ’em out to look for your brains. If I could find the scum that swiped ’em I’d make chop suey of him, to feed Mr. Quick with. Just about the sort of diet to suit him.” “Hello, what’s the cap’n up to?” he went on suddenly. “If he isn’t turning off his course, I’m a Dutchman.” Going to the side of the boat he saw they were heading directly for a steamer which lay with a heavy list, perhaps five miles away. No smoke emerged from her funnel. Adjusting the glasses, the cook examined the craft for a while. “By jiminy!” he exclaimed. “If she ain’t a derelict, I’ll eat my hat.” CHAPTER V