Charlie turned away from the captain to his father. Mr. Prohack saw a man hauling a three-cornered flag up the chief of the three masts which the ship possessed, and another man hauling a large oblong flag up a pole at the stern. "What is the significance of this flag-raising?" asked Mr. Prohack. "The significance is that the owner has come aboard," Charlie replied, not wholly without self-consciousness. "Come on. Have a look at her. Come on, skipper. Do the honours. She used to be a Mediterranean trader. The former owner turned her into a yacht. He says she cost him a hundred thousand by the time she was finished. I can believe it." Mr. Prohack also believed it, easily; he believed it more and more easily as he was trotted from deck to deck and from bedroom to bedroom, and sitting-room to sitting-room, and library to smoking-room, and music-room to lounge, and especially from bathroom to bathroom. In no land habitation had Mr. Prohack seen so many, or such marmoreal, or such luxurious bathrooms. What particularly astonished Mr. Prohack was the exceeding and minute finish of everything, and what astonished him even more than the finish was the cleanliness of everything. "Dirty place to be in, sir, Southampton," grinned the skipper. "We do the best we can." They reached the dining-room, an apartment in glossy bird's-eye maple set in the midst of the virgin-white promenade deck. "By the way, lunch, please," said Charlie. "Yes, sir," responded eagerly the elder of two attendants in jackets striped blue and white. "Have a wash, guv'nor? Thanks, skipper, that'll do for the present." Mr. Prohack washed in amplitudinous marble, and wiped his paternal face upon diaper into which was woven the name "Northwind." He then, with his son, ate an enormous and intricate lunch and drank champagne out of crystal engraved with the name "Northwind," served to him by a ceremonious person in white gloves. Charlie was somewhat taciturn, but over the coffee he seemed to brighten up. "Well, what do you think of the old hulk?" "She must need an awful lot of men," said Mr. Prohack. "Pretty fair. The wages bill is seven hundred a month." "She's enormous," continued Mr. Prohack lamely. "Oh, no! Seven hundred tons Thames measurement. You see those funnels over there," and Charlie pointed through the port windows to a row of four funnels rising over great sheds. "That's the _Mauretania_. She's a hundred times as big as this thing. She could almost sling this affair in her davits." "Indeed! Still, I maintain that this antique wreck is enormous," Mr. Prohack insisted. They walked out on deck. "Hello! Here's the chit. You can always count on _her_!" said Charles. The launch was again approaching the yacht, and a tiny figure with a despatch case on her lap sat smiling in the stern-sheets. "She's come down by train," Charles explained.