Captain Bill Flanders walked down East Twenty-third Street toward the Yacht Club dock, tired, mentally and physically. Back and forth from the big steam yacht which he commanded, to ship chandler, boss carpenter, boss painter and boss rigger, he had traveled, night and day, for four weeks; but at last the work was done, and the yacht, shining like a piece of cabinet work, waited at anchor off the landing for the owner and his daughter, who, with other guests, were to make the Mediterranean cruise. Bill had not slept for the last two nights, nor bathed nor shaved for the last four. He was irritable, cranky, and when he came upon a crowd of half-grown hoodlums egging a mongrel dog on to a small black kitten in the clutches of one, Bill gave way. He spared the dog, for the dog was palpably not in sympathy with the project, but he mercilessly punished the rest. First, he grabbed the kitten, and stowed the wee creature in his pocket, then he went for the gang, and, with fists and boots, so afflicted them that they fled, howling and swearing, from his vicinity. He sped them with stronger profanity, and when the last rowdy had disappeared around the corners or into saloons, Bill went his way with the kitten purring gratefully under his big but soft hand. Bill felt better for the experience. Bill was a bachelor, whose life's experiences had been sadly devoid of sentiment. He was, or had been, a "bilge midshipman," as they say in the navy--that is, a student at Annapolis who had failed to pass the final examination, and had then gone to sea as he could, simply for the love of the sea. He had put in one voyage before the mast in a Yankee ship, and learned self-control; had sailed in English ships, and learned to eat anything edible not named in the Board of Trade allowance; had tried Norwegian, German, Italian, Scotch, and Russian craft, and learned the fundamentals of the Brotherhood of Man; and then, waking up, he had taken to American yachts, and soon risen to command. He was a blond giant, smooth-shaven and gentle of speech, except when aroused; then his face grew dark, and his voice took on the accents of a fireman's trumpet. It was late in the evening; he hailed the anchor watch, and the dingey put off and took him aboard. He saw that all was well, and turned in, first feeding the kitten and stowing it in his berth. In the morning the little black mite was still with him, and he fed it again, then shut it in his room while he attended to business. And it may be mentioned here that, as the days went on, the kitten grew plump and playful and lovable, while Big Bill Flanders' big heart grew bigger as it infolded the pet.