"Well, when the baby was big enough to stand travel she was coming, anyway, she wrote; but I reminded her that before a great while now I ought to be on my way home. And one day in the China Seas I saw the sun between us and the shore setting under a thousand golden lakes and pools and purple pillars, and a home-bound pennant of a full cable's length whipping the breeze in our smoke astern." Wickett paused, and resumed: "That was a great night. It was two years and three months since I'd left Bayport. The first thing I did in the morning after turning out, and for every morning thereafter, was to step to the calendar on the wall of my room and block out that day's date with a fat blue-leaded pencil I'd got from the paymaster for that purpose alone, and then, estimating the run on the chief engineer's dope, count how many days were left." Wickett was silent. He remained silent so long that Carlin thought that that must be the end, abrupt though it was, to the story. But it was not that. Wickett was pointing across the bay. "See, Carlin--the flag-ship of the second squadron has just sent out an order for its first division to prepare for an emergency signal drill. And the first division are to have a torpedo drill at the same time. Wait--in half a minute it will be on. There--look!" From the mastheads the red and white Ardois lights were winking even as the illuminated arms of the semaphores were wigwagging jerky messages from bridge to bridge; on shore, on the water, on the clouds, the great search-lights swept and crossed endlessly. It was dazzling. Suddenly it ceased. "Oh-h!" protested Carlin. "Life is just like that, isn't it?" said Wickett; "all light and play and color for a spell, and then--pff--lights out." "Maybe," admitted Carlin, "but don't impede the speed of the story. Your ship was racing for home." "Our orders were to proceed by way of Suez and to rendezvous with the battle-fleet at Guantanamo, Cuba. We got into Guantanamo the day before the _Missalama_ arrived from the North. The _Missalama_ had orders to proceed to the West Coast. Half a dozen of the officers already in Guantanamo were ordered to her. I was one of them." "Good night! But that was a jolt!" "That's what it was. But that's the service." "And couldn't you do anything about it?" "What could I do? There were my orders. A couple of the fellows came as near to being politicians then as ever they did in their lives. They tried to reach people in Washington--bureau chiefs, senators, influential congressmen--to have me detached and ordered home. But next day was a holiday and the day after was Sunday, and the ship had to sail by Sunday. And she did, and I with her." "And how do you account for your being shunted off like that? Somebody have it in for you?"