[Illustration: [_Extract from Sentries' Orders_: "In case of man overboard, will throw the ship's life-buoy overboard, and report to the ship's officer on the bridge. In case of fire will at once report it quietly to the ship's officer on the bridge."] _Officer of the Watch (on transport)._ "WHAT DO YOU DO IN CASE OF FIRE?" _Nervous Sentry._ "THROW MESELF OVERBOARD AN' REPORT AT ONCE TO THE BLOKE ON THE BALCONY."] * * * * * IN SEARCH OF PETER. Martell is one of those men that you might live next door to for half-a-century and never know any better. It is entirely owing to his wife and her love for Peter that Martell and I have discovered each other to be quite companionable fellows with many tastes in common, and I am smoking one of his cigars at the present moment. Peter is the most precious and the most coveted of my possessions. He is coveted, or was, chiefly by Mrs. Martell, who fell in love with his name and his deep romantic eyes. Apart from these I can see nothing remarkable in him. He is certainly the most irresponsible hound that ever sat down in front of a motor-car to attend to his personal cleanliness, but still I should not like to part with him. "We must have a Peter," was the text of Mrs. Martell's domestic monologues, and of late, before the great disillusionment--that is, after hinting delicately to me that she would like best of all to have _the_ Peter--she took to sallying forth, armed with the name, into the purlieus of dog-fanciers to find a criminal that would fit the punishment. I was not altogether surprised, therefore, one afternoon when a note was brought in asking me to step round and have a cup of tea. Martell was monosyllabic as usual, and we sat and gazed into the fire. "I don't suppose you would like to part with Peter," he said suddenly. "I certainly should not," I answered. Then, after a pause, "Could you tell a good lie?" he asked. I looked up in astonishment, but just then Mrs. Martell entered and plunged _in medias res_. She had just returned from the last of those fruitless expeditions, and the slow realization that there can be only one Peter in the world had brought her nearly to tears. "And I've bought such a sweet little collar for him," she said, "with 'Peter' printed in big letters." I remembered then that the original dog was in daily danger of being arrested, his very aged collar having been chewed to pulp after his last castigation therewith. "And a dear little pair of soft slippers, one for him to play with, and the other to smack him with if he's ever naughty, although I don't think he could be--your Peter, I mean. Have you slippers for him?" "Well, not a pair," I said, "and not exactly slippers. One's a golf-ball, the other's more in the nature of a boot." "Oh, but he 's such a sweet-tempered little creature, isn't he?" I felt Martell's eye upon, me.