Wood laughed. "And the girls?" "Paula is as sweet as ever. Hermione has grown up. She is taller than I and is going to be a beauty." From the hands clustered on the t'gallant forecastle there came at this moment a sort of stifled yelp, immediately followed by some deep-sea admonition from Captain Heldstrom. As if in answer to the commotion there popped out of the galley, which as in most old-fashioned vessels was in a forward deck-house, a corpulent gentleman with a crimson face, snow-white moustache, and a shining bald head whereof the lustre was marred by streaks of flour. "Papa..." called Cécile. Captain Bell, for it was he, turned sharply, and seeing Wood, his choleric face lightened. He tore off his apron, wiped his bare, floury arms, and came striding jerkily aft. "Well, well, Huntington ... glad to see you, my boy. Excuse my negligée ... was just at work on an omelette soufflée, but somehow it went wrong. Infernal thing collapsed like a punctured tire. All the fault of this Pilot-fish...." "What is the Pilot-fish?" asked Wood. "Cécile will tell you while I brush up. You will stop for lunch ... yes, this is not a request, it is an order. I have made a _plat_ that I want your opinion of." He glanced over the rail. "You are off the _Arcturus_?" "Yes ... cruising with Livingston Poole. I leave him to-morrow. His people are to join him at Portland." "Come and visit us a bit." He raised his voice. "Christian, tell that man from the _Arcturus_ to go back and say that Mr. Wood is lunching with us." "Yes, zir." Pausing to search the horizon with his glasses, Captain Bell went below. Wood looked inquiringly at Cécile. "Did you ever hear of a pilot-fish?" she asked. "Yes. It is a little fish which is a constant companion of the shark. So this is a companion of yours?" "There is a man who lives on a little yawl and goes wherever we go. Last summer we began to notice that, no matter where we were, there would turn up sooner or later this same little boat. Sometimes she would be in port when we arrived. No doubt he got our next address at the postoffice and then passed us _en route_. The _Shark_ is about as speedy as a brick-barge, and this yawl is a smart little sailer." "What is the game of this Pilot-fish?" asked Wood. "It appears that we are his mind. He makes us do his thinking for him. Here comes papa; get him to tell you of his interview with the Pilot-fish." Captain Bell, refreshed inside and out, appeared at this moment in the companionway. His first glance was for the harbour-mouth. "Come here, papa," called Cécile, "and tell Huntington about your conversation with the Pilot-fish."