The voices rang out again and again, and yet again. And made the water ripple round the ship, Bob Howlett afterwards declared. But five minutes after, when he was down with Mark in the middies' berth, while the hero of the evening sat hot and quivering in every nerve, Bob uttered a contemptuous snort. "Oh!" he cried, "what a jolly shame!" Mark stared. "You do get all the crumb, old chap. All that fuss over a fellow with a head of hair like yours!" Then, as he saw the pained look in his messmate's countenance, the tears rose in his eyes, and he gulped out,-- "Only my gammon, old chap. I'm as proud of you as any of 'em, and I only wish now that we were two great gals." "Why?" cried Mark, wonderingly, as he caught the hands extended to him by his friend. "Because then I could hug you. But I can't: it would be so Frenchy." "Fists'll do," said Mark, gripping Bob's fingers with all his might. "Yes, and we're to stick to each other always." "Always." "Through thick and thin." "Through thick and thin." "Chums to the end." "To the very end, Bob." "Yah!" roared the latter, angrily, as he picked up a bread tray to throw at a head he had seen through his dim eyes watching them intently, "How dare you sneak in, sir to watch what's going on? Why, I thought it was one of the men. Come here and stand on your head, ugly. You can't tell tales of how stupid and choky I've been." The chimpanzee came forward out of the semi-darkness, and squatted down to have its ears pulled; while, as soon as he grew more calm, and his heart beat regularly once again, Mark sat down to pen a long, long letter to that best of places--his far-off home.