“Oh, I don’t know for the minute,” the man said. “Just once or twice in everybody’s life there comes a time that he thinks it worth while to forge ahead, whatever it costs. It doesn’t need to be something selfish. Some people keep themselves tuned up all the time. I don’t. Perhaps I’ve got too slack,” he added ruefully, glancing down at his tattered coat. He was wearing his “best” trousers, having left the other disreputable-looking garments behind when he sallied forth from the log-cabin. “I wonder whether I should have enough pep left in me to make a real effort now if I wanted to. Anyway, there’s a chance to get a move on to-night if we want a berth to sleep in.” There were several coastal boats tied up at the various wharves, and Dave and his companion began a systematic search for work. The third vessel they tried wanted hands, but she was bound up the west coast, farther away from America than ever; so they left her, undecided, pending a further search. At last fortune favored them. The _Neptune_, a rusty old tramp, was leaving the following day on a leisurely trip eastward, picking up cargo where she could for any port on the way to Sydney; and she could do with a couple more deck-hands. Dave’s experience hardly justified him in signing on as a deck hand, but no question was raised as to his age, his build being equal to that of many a boy two years older. The mate who engaged him asked Dave several questions, which were answered satisfactorily. “You’re a bit young,” the mate said, “but I guess you’ll do.” And Dave flushed with pride when he found himself enrolled as an ordinary member of the crew. It was fortunate that he had spent as much of his time at sea as possible learning the ins and outs of his trade, for this knowledge became of great value to him now. Bruce Tempest, too, gave him some quiet coaching, and after a week as an able-bodied seaman Dave found little difficulty in carrying out the routine duties of a tramp’s deck-hand. He was in the watch of Mr. Slazenger, the mate who had engaged him, and when that officer found the boy a hard worker and willing to learn, he made allowance for his inexperience. The _Neptune_ made slow headway, but she was a fairly good sea-boat, and Dave enjoyed this ambling trip more than he had being on either of the other vessels. So long as the crew did their work the captain did not interfere with them unduly, though, as one of the older hands explained: “When he do want to put up a kick he wears his heaviest boots.” On more than one occasion the captain, a Queenslander named Phelps, gave Dave a kindly word of encouragement and chatted pleasantly. The boy was coiling a rope when Captain Phelps showed how it could be done more expeditiously. “Do you come of a sea-going family?” he asked. “Yes, sir,” Dave replied. “My father was a ship’s master, and so were his brothers.” “Your dad at sea now?”