Peter felt as if he had known them for years; and after supper, an older brother passed Peter a cigar and up-stairs in the living-room talked in a casually friendly way on baseball, prize-fighting, the big war, the latest movies. One of Sarah's sisters played the piano and Sarah and another sister sang. Other young men called. Peter was a good listener until a little brother of Sarah's peeked in and finally came over by Peter and shyly said: "Won't you tell something, captain, about the big ocean?" Peter told them a little about the big ocean, as he knew it, and stopped. He himself wanted to hear more songs--"Annie Laurie," or "The _Robert E. Lee_," or something like them--but they asked him to keep on. He told more--he would have told them more, in the first place, but he had no idea shore-going people, especially girls, cared much for rough fishing life. In a little while he was warmed up and going good. When he stopped this time they were all bent over and staring at him. The big brother straightened up first and pulled out his watch and said: "What d'y'know--I'm chairman o' the house committee down to the club, and we had a meeting scheduled for an hour and a half ago!" Sarah sang "Asthore" and "Mother Machree" and there was more playing. And they all had ice-cream and cake, and the older brother gave Peter a great grip of the hand going; and they all asked him to call again soon and waved him good night from the doorway. And Peter, walking up the street, began to think that maybe he had been sticking round his sister's too much nights. Mrs. Pentle called into the shipping-room on a tour of inspection the next day again and regularly after that; and regularly Peter rode home with Sarah and one night he asked her if she would go to the theatre with him. She looked so pleased that he was sorry he hadn't got his courage up sooner. It was to a musical show that Peter took Sarah. All the time he was there he felt uncomfortable--some of the people on the stage cert'nly did carry some things pretty far. However, it was over, and Peter suggested supper at a restaurant. Peter knew nothing of the night restaurants of the city. He picked out one he saw advertised in the theatre programme and because it also happened to be on the way to their trolley-line. He felt Sarah shrink a little going in; and after he was inside and seated he wished he had paid more attention to her shrinking. But he had been too excited to notice. He had been lashed to the wheel of his vessel steering her in a living gale and not half so much excited as he was now. It wasn't just the kind of place, maybe, to bring a young girl; but they were in there now and he guessed they would weather whatever happened. He asked Sarah if she would have a glass of beer or anything like that. He didn't want her to think him too slow. He was pleased when she said no. What would she have to eat? Sarah picked up the card. "Suppose we try a tarble dote?" she said.