"This Pilot-fish," observed Wood, "has got the races beaten to a finish." All eyes aboard the _Shark_ were directed over the starboard bow. Out of the vivid glare appeared presently a small, chunky vessel, yawl-rigged, though from the size of her mizzen she might have been classed as a ketch. No bunting did she fling to the light, offshore breeze; no pennant, burgee, ensign, nor even so much as a tell-tale at her truck. Huntington, a yachtsman of some experience, doubted that she had been designed and built for a yacht. Beating back and forth across the bay, the yawl finally made her berth about halfway between the _Shark_ and the eastern side of the harbour. "What is her name?" asked Wood. "Her name," Bell answered, "goes with the tea and macaroons. It is _Daffodil_." "Oh, fudge..." "His name," said Cécile, "is Harold Applebo." She had expected to hear a feeble cry for help, but was disappointed. Wood sprang up from his lounging position. "Harold Applebo..." he cried. "Why, he was a classmate of mine. I might have known ... from your father's description." Cécile opened wide her grey eyes. "Tell us about him," said she. "Harold Applebo," Wood began, "is eccentric and a poet. At college, however, he was not considered by any means a fool." "Does he write good verse?" asked Cécile. "One needs to get into the bath-tub to read it. Yet, although mushy, he has a few admirers, and has published two books, doubtless at his own expense. Selections from the first were read to me this summer by a friend. When she had finished my head felt like a bottle full of bees. There was one 'Ode to a Dew-drop in the Heart of a Pansy'; another was called 'Flowers at Play.'" "Nuf', nuf' ... let me up..." murmured Bell. "I managed to keep my strength," continued Wood, "until my friend, who happened to be a young mother, recited from memory, 'Baby in the Asphodel.' That finished me. I have never felt the same toward babies since. That is unfortunate, considering my charity." He levelled a glass toward the yawl. "Yes ... I see Harold ... and there is a thing like a gollywog getting into the dink." "The Finn," said Cécile. "Tell us some more about Applebo." "At college he kept house with a parrot and a bull-pup, and was known to have eccentric ideas. He did not believe in friendship, saying that one's attitude should be the same toward all of one's fellows. Although known to be tremendously powerful physically, nothing would induce him to enter athletics. He said that the demonstration of individual prowess was a vain exhibition of superiority, and therefore not ethical. It was observed that his arguments were beautifully adapted to his own tastes." "Sounds rather an interestin' ass," said Bell. "Why not jump into the dinghy and see if you can't get him for lunch? He might come for you." Wood glanced at Cécile, who nodded. "Do," said she. "Tell him that he may let us do his thinking for him, just the same."