Crawshay shook hands, although he showed no particular enthusiasm about the proceeding. "And I am Clark, of the Minneapolis _Record_" the small, dark man, who was generally by Brand's side, added. "Put it there, sir." Crawshay put it there with an incipient reluctance which the two men were not slow to note. "Kind of shock to you yesterday, no doubt," Brand began. "It was a fine, plucky thing to do, sir. Ever flown before?" "Never," Crawshay confessed. "The sensation was--er--entirely new to me. I found the descent upon the water most uncomfortable." "Soaked your shore clothes, eh?" Brand observed. "I was not attired for the proceeding," Crawshay admitted. "I was, in fact, very inappropriately dressed. I was wearing a thin flannel suit, which was completely ruined, and I do not think that I shall ever be warm again." Mr. Brand glanced longingly at his wrist watch and sighed. "I make it a rule, sir," he said, "never to drink before twelve o'clock, but there is no rule without an exception. If you think that a double jigger of gin, with a little lemon and--" "Stop!" Crawshay begged. "I have no sympathy with the weird compounds produced by your bartenders. As a matter of fact, I take nothing at all except with my meals. I am going to sit in this sunshine and try and recover my normal temperature." "There are a few of the boys on board," Brand continued insinuatingly, "who would like to join in our little chat, if you wouldn't mind their stepping round." "I have no desire for a chat with any one," Crawshay objected. "I came up on deck to rest. Kindly ask me what you want to know and leave me alone for a time." "Then what in thunder sent you here after an American liner on a seaplane?" Brand demanded. "That's about the long and short of what we're aching to know, I think." "You've hit it, Ned, as usual," Mr. Clark, of the Minneapolis _Record_, acquiesced. Crawshay drew his rug about him a little peevishly. "My name," he said, "is Charles Reginald Crawshay." "We got that from the captain," Brand replied. "Very nice name, too." "I have been attached," Crawshay went on, "to the British Embassy at Washington." "You don't say!" Brand murmured. "I am returning home," Crawshay continued, "because I intend to join the British Army, I was unfortunate enough to miss the boat, and being in company with a person of authority and influence, he suggested, partly in joke, that I should try to persuade one of the pilots of your new seaplanes at Jersey to bring me out. He further bet me five hundred dollars that I would not attempt the flight. I am one of those sort of people," Crawshay confessed meditatively, "who rise to a bet as to no other thing in life. I suppose it comes from our inherited sporting instincts. I accepted the bet and here I am." "In time to save the British Army, eh?" Brand observed. "In time to take my rightful place amongst the defenders of my country," was the dignified rebuke. "Incidentally, I have won a hundred pounds."