“Sailors are queer folk, believe me. That same brig, _Flower of the Ocean_, an’ a pretty flower she was, too—all tar an’ coal-dust, with a perfume that would poison a rat—put into Grimsby one day, an’ the crowd went ashore. They kicked up a shindy with some bar-loungers, an’ the fur flew. When the police came, old Peg-leg, the skipper, you know, was the only man left in the place, havin’ unshipped his crutch for the fight. ‘What have you bin a-doin’ of here—throwin’ grapes about?’ asked the peeler, gazin’ at the floor, suspicious-like. ‘Grapes,’ said Dot-an’-carry-one, ‘them ain’t grapes. Them’s eyeballs!’ Another time—” “Mr. Boyle!” shrieked Elsie, and fled. “Huh!” he grunted. “Off before the wind when she hears a Sunday-school yarn like that. Wonder what she’d say if I told her about the plum-duff with beetles for Sultanas. Girls are brought up nowadays like orchids. They shouldn’t be let loose in this wicked world.” As Elsie passed along the promenade deck she saw Courtenay, Tollemache, and Walker deep in consultation. They were arranging a percussion fuse of fulminating mercury. While she was watching them, Walker dropped a broken furnace bar on top of a small package placed on an iron block. Instantly there was a sharp report, and Joey, who was an interested observer, jumped several feet. The men laughed, and she heard Courtenay say: “That is the right proportion of fulminate. Now, Tollemache, I’ll help you to fix them. We do not know the moment those reptiles may choose to attack.” So the captain did not leave the Alaculof menace altogether out of count. Something rose in her throat, some wave of emotion which threatened her splendid serenity. She ran rather than walked to her cabin, flung herself on the bed, and sobbed piteously. It had to come, this tempest of tears. When desperate odds demanded unflinching courage, she faced them dry-eyed, with steadfast heart. But to-day, in the bright sunshine and apparent security of the ship, sinister death-shadows tortured her into rebellion. She did not stop to ask herself why she wept; being a woman, she yielded to the gust, and when it had ended, with the suddenness of a summer shower, she smiled through the vanishing tears. Her first concern was that none should be aware of her weakness. “How stupid of me,” she murmured. “What would the men think if they knew I broke down in this fashion.”