"He send for me across the seas. 'I need my leetle Albairt,' he says. 'Come queegly.' So I spread my wings and come. And _La Coquette_ she slip out from Rochefort. And _La Guerrière_"-with a backward jerk--"from Brest. Like swallows in April we flock to the rendezvous--to meet the Queen of Hearts, is it not?" He bowed low, hand to his bosom. "And now you've come, sure I ope you'll stay," rumbled the grim old seaman. "The trouble with you's always been your despart hurry to get away." "This time we stay," replied the Frenchman with a smirk--"all three, for ever, if need be." "We'll do our best to make you at ome, sir," grunted the Englishman; and turning to Kit-- "Slip below and tell Mr. Lanyon to begin to talk when we're locked fast--and not afoor." CHAPTER X THE MAIN-DECK Kit scampered below. The main-deck was clear as a room before a ball: bulkheads up; hammocks slung. But for the sand on it, you might have danced there. How big and sweet and clean it looked!--like the loft at home, where he and Gwen and the black cat's kittens played on wet days. But there was something other than the black cat's kittens to think about now. The sunshine poured in through the ports on the sleek guns crouching ready. On the breech of one somebody had scrawled in chalk-- _God is Love. Hear me preach it:_ on others obscene mottoes, texts, and lines from patriotic songs. About each gun clustered her crew, naked to the waist, black handkerchieves bound about their foreheads. All had solemn puckers about the brows; some were silent, some ghastly-joking in whispers, and one, face averted, was obviously praying. Up and down the sanded deck between the guns, picking his teeth, strutted a tall and faded splendour. His cocked hat was a-rake; his kid gloves white as his skipper's were dingy; his whiskers, purple with dye newly applied, puffed out on cheeks touched with rouge. Could this dilapidated dandy, so alert, so nonchalant, be the drunkard of last night?-- Yes. That tallowy nose, those eyes with the wild gleam in them, could not be mistaken. It was Lushy Lanyon. Somehow he had scraped up a First Lieutenant's uniform: bright blue coat with long tails; white waist-coat, knee breeches, and stockings; black hat cockaded, worn athwart-ships; and sword slung from a shoulder belt. And the wonder was that it fitted and became him. The boy gave his message. The Gunner bowed ceremoniously. "Be so good as to give Commander Ardin my compliments, and say I don't pull a lanyard till I can see through her ports." The other's formal politeness stirred the boy almost to laughter; yet somehow the faded splendour of the man touched him too.