The Flag-Lieutenant retired to his cabin like a dog with a bone, and became engrossed with closely-written sheets that enclosed several amateur snapshots. One or two portrayed a slim, fair-haired girl in tweeds; others a black spaniel. The Flag-Lieutenant studied them through a magnifying-glass, smiling. The Admiral, busy over his private correspondence, was also smiling. He had been offered another group of letters to tack after his name (he had five already). The agent of his estate at home had a lot to say about the pheasants.... His wife sprawled an account of life at Aix across eight pages. He had been invited to be the executor of one man’s will and godfather to another’s child. But a series of impressionist sketches by his youngest daughter (_ætat._ 5), inspired by a visit to the Zoo, was what he was actually smiling over. Up on the after-bridge the Yeoman of the Watch leaned over the rail and whistled to the signal-boy. "Nip down to my mess an’ see if there’s a letter for me." The boy fled down the ladder and presently returned with a letter. The Yeoman took it from him and turned it over in his hands, scanning it almost hungrily. The stamp was cryptically askew and the flap of the envelope ornamented by a fragment of stamp-paper. "An’ what the ’ell are _you_ grinnin’ at?" he began. The boy turned and scampered down the ladder into safety. The Yeoman of Signals stood looking after him, the letter held in his hand, when a bell rang outside the signal-house. He put his ear to the voice-pipe. The Flag-Lieutenant was speaking. "Yes, sir?" "Make the following signal to the Destroyer that brought our mails— "To Commanding Officer. Admiral requests the pleasure of your company to dinner to-night at eight o’clock." "Aye, aye, sir." He turned away from the voice-pipe. "_An’_ ’e could ’ave my tot on top o’ that for the askin’." *XV.* *THE "LOOK-SEE."* SOUTHEND, AUGUST 1909. A bunting-draped paddle-steamer, listed over with a dense crowd of trippers, thrashed her leisurely way down the lines. On the quarterdeck of one of the Battleships the Midshipman of the Afternoon Watch rubbed the lense of his telescope with his jacket cuff, adjusted the focus against a stanchion, and prepared to make the most of this heaven-sent diversion. Over the water came a hoarse roar of cheering, and, as she drew near, handkerchiefs and flags fluttered along the steamer’s rail. The Lieutenant of the Watch, in frock-coat and sword-belt, paused beside the Midshipman and raised his glass, a dry smile creasing the corners of his eyes. "What’s up with them all, sir?" murmured the boy delightedly. "My Aunt! What a Banzai!" "Ever seen kids cheer a passing train? Same sort of thing." "But look at the girl in white; she’s half off her chump—look at her waving her arms.... Friend of yours, sir?"