"Well," remarked Bell, a little snappishly, "keep on being a pilot-fish, if that suits you better. As far as following us is concerned, you can do that and welcome. Follow us till..." "Oh, papa...!" "H'm ... huh ... h'm ... but I'm afraid you'll find that you've got some swimming cut out for you that will wear the brisket off you." "Where the _Shark_ swims," said Applebo, "the Pilot-fish will follow." "We will see ... h'm ... we will see," said Captain Bell, oracularly. CHAPTER VIII It is sad to chronicle the fact that, on the way back to the _Shark_, Captain Bell's language was not such as a maiden's ears should hear. But it is doubtful if Cécile's ears did hear it, such paternal explosions being somewhat too common of occurrence to command attention. On the other hand, the treatment which she had just received at the hands of the poet was an entirely new experience, and, in consideration of what Wood had told her, one that puzzled her mightily. There was naturally no way of poor Cécile's knowing that the poet took her for her sister Hermione, and was working off a little artistic pique, due to the return of verses, which had cost him gallons of tea and many pounds of macaroons. Bell was going off at intervals, like an automatic fog-horn. "The ---- fool!" he stormed, to the expressionless delight of his crew, which pulled away with stony faces. "Is he a wild ass of the desert, or does he think I am, or both? What in thunder did he mean by all that rot about Hermione shooting the keeper and he standin' by to bury him in the sand? Was the fool tryin' to josh me, I'd like to know? And all that slush about percussion somethin' and poetic interpretation by an æolian harp crackin' on ... Did you ever see such a cub-faced, swab-headed guillemot? Soul-talk! I want a drink..."