"As we're away from the ship and it's dark I've no particular objection to Hurst's smoking. All you men can smoke; but please don't forget to listen carefully." Had it not been dark expansive grins could have been seen on the faces of the half-dozen tars manning this steam pinnace. For here was a privilege granted without the asking, and one, too, which every one of the men could fully appreciate. It was just one of those thoughtful actions for which Dicky had become almost famous since he became a full-fledged midshipman, and which added so much to his popularity. As for Hurst, the mention of his own name caused him to bring one broad palm with a resounding smack against his thigh. Hawkins could hear him gurgling, and then listened to his low-toned whisper. "Did you hear that? Spotted who was smoking. Spotted it was me," he said hoarsely, his tones betraying delight if anything. "If that don't beat me handsome! Here's he away for'ard a-listening for shouts and cries, while the pinnace steams against the wind. He spots as someone's smoking. And he says as sure as he can make it that it's me. That's smart, mate, ain't it?" "It's jest common sense, that's all," came the rejoinder. "Dicky ain't asleep, not by a long way. He knows his men better perhaps than a sight of the orfficers. And he knows you, Bill, and the smell of that 'ere pipe. That's where his smartness comes in. He puts things together quick, same as he'll clear up this here little business that's brought us away from the ship at a time when we ought to be turnin' down and alookin' forward to our suppers. Did you hear what it is exactly? They was mighty quick in pipin' us away. It's something particular." "Someone lost away out beyond the Needles, that's all I heard," came Hurst's answer. "Anyways, there ain't much chance of our being able to help. It's blowing hardish out here, and if a boat has foundered and left her crew in the water, why, they'll stay there I'm afeard. It don't take long to drown a man, even with the little sea there's running." A sudden order had in fact disturbed the peace of shipboard life late that evening. Mr. Midshipman Hamshaw, in all the glory of his mess kit, was on the point of making his way to the gunroom, there to sit down to an appetizing dinner, when he received an unexpected order. "Mr. Hamshaw! Mr. Hamshaw!" he heard someone calling. "Pass the word to Mr. Hamshaw, please. Ask him to step up on deck at once, bringing oilskins with him." Dicky's servant conveyed the tidings to him. Dicky himself tore off his mess jacket with no very pleasant expression, dived into a workaday costume, and grumbling at the ill fortune which had befallen him stumbled up on deck. "Yes, sir," he cried, halting before the officer of the watch and displaying that smartness for which he was notorious. "Here, sir."