I could see that our gallant crew were prepared to go through with the business. More and more of the coastguards were collecting, and I understood that what the crew wanted was to go up to the coastguard station with that keg of pretending brandy, and involve the whole of the coastguards of Longbeach in one complete and perfect sell. But Dicky was sick of the entire business. He really has not the proper soul for adventures, and what soul he has had been damped by what he had gone through. So he said, "Look here, there's nothing in that keg but water." Oswald could have kicked him, though he is his brother. "Huh!" replied the Unloved One, "d'you think I haven't got a nose? Why, it's oozing out of the bunghole now as strong as Samson." "Open it and see," said Dicky, disregarding Oswald's whispered instructions to him to shut up. "It _is_ water." "What do you suppose I suppose you want to get water from the other side for, you young duffer!" replied the brutal official. "There's plenty water and to spare this side." "It's--it's _French_ water," replied Dicky madly; "it's ours, my brother's and mine. We asked these sailors to get it for us." "Sailors, indeed!" said the hateful coastguard. "You come along with me." And our Viking said he was something or othered. But Benenden whispered to him in a low voice that it was all right--time was up. No one heard this but me and the Viking. "I want to go home," said Dicky. "I don't want to come along with you." "What did you want water for?" was asked. "To try it?" "To stand you a drink next time you ordered us off your beastly boat," said Dicky. And Oswald rejoiced to hear the roar of laughter that responded to this fortunate piece of cheek. I suppose Dicky's face was so angel-like, innocent-looking, like stowaways in books, that they _had_ to believe him. Oswald told him so afterwards, and Dicky hit out. Any way, the keg was broached, and sure enough it was water, and sea-water at that, as the Unamiable One said when he had tasted it out of a tin cup, for nothing else would convince him. "But I smell brandy still," he said, wiping his mouth after the sea-water. Our Viking slowly drew a good-sized flat labelled bottle out of the front of his jersey. "From the 'Old Ship,'" he said gently. "I may have spilt a drop or two here or there over the keg, my hand not being very steady, as is well known, owing to spells of marsh fever as comes over me every six weeks to the day." The coastguard that we never could bear said, "Marsh fever be something or othered," and his comrades said the same. But they all blamed _him_, and we were glad. We went home sleepy, but rejoicing. The whole thing was as complete a sell as ever I wish to see. [Illustration: SURE ENOUGH IT WAS SEA-WATER, AS THE UNAMIABLE ONE SAID WHEN HE HAD TASTED IT.]