It was a cloudy morning, the clouds being all around the horizon with the promise of clear sky overhead. Windrow upon windrow of mist rolled up above the horizon. The light in the east was half smothered by the clouds. “I guess the old sun will get here on the dot,” said Whistler, in a mind to turn away to go about his duties. “I’m going to wait for him,” said Ikey stubbornly. “No knowing what tricks he might play. Hi! Look there!” Whistler, as well as Ikey, suddenly became interested in what they saw upon the western sky. There was a stratum of cloud floating there, beneath which the horizon--the meeting line of sky and sea--was clear. The spreading light of dawn imparted to this horizon line a clearness quite startling. It was as though it had been just dashed on with a brushful of fresh paint. The floating cloudland was pearl gray above and rose pink beneath; and that streak of “fresh paint” on the horizon line separated this cloudland from the dull blue water. The sun would soon pop up above the eastern sea line, despite Ikey’s pessimism, and his coming rays were already touching lightly the clouds above. “Look at that! Isn’t it great?” breathed Whistler. “Why, you can just about see through that cloud. It doesn’t seem real.” “Clouds aren’t supposed to be very solid,” scoffed Ikey, unappreciative of the poetry in his mate’s nature. “Only air and water.” “Huh! Two of the three principal elements,” snapped Whistler. “Where’s your science, smart boy? And that plane of cloud----” “Looks just like the flat sea below it,” suggested Ikey, his interest growing. “You’re right, it does!” admitted Whistler. “See! I believe that cloud is a reflection of the sea beneath. I bet it isn’t a cloud at all!” “Then I guess I was right,” chuckled Ikey. “Nothing very _real_ about it, is there?” Mr. MacMasters came forward along the _Colodia’s_ deck just as Ikey made this reply. He addressed the two friends smilingly: “What is all the excitement, boys? Haven’t spotted a submarine, have you, Rosenmeyer?” Whistler turned to the ensign and waved a hand toward the phenomenon in the west. “What do you think of that out there, Mr. MacMasters?” he asked. “I am not sure, but I think we are being vouchsafed a sight not often noted at sea--and at this hour. It looks like a mirage.” “Oi, oi!” murmured Ikey. “I understand now why it looks so funny.” Whistler said: “Then that is a reflection of the sea up there in the air?” “Hanging between sea and sky, yes,” said the ensign. “A curious phenomenon. But not, in all probability, a reflection of the sea directly under that cloudlike vision.” “No, sir.” “Probably a reflection photographed on the clouds of a piece of the ocean at a distance--just where one could scarcely figure out even by the use of the ‘highest of higher mathematics’,” and the ensign laughed. “A mirage,” repeated Whistler. “Well, I never saw the like before.”