"What's that?" he demanded. "Been sending you verses...? Why, confound his impudence, how long has he been doing that? I never heard of such cheek ... and I'll go aboard his boat and tell him so...." "Oh, hush...!" As usual, the good captain had raised his voice to its quarter-deck pitch. "There was no harm in his doing so. The verses are quite innocent, and some are rather pretty. It's merely his pose...." Bell began to eat and grumble. Wood laughed and glanced at Paula. Hermione, hot with irritation, lost her interest in the entrée. She wanted the verses which she knew had been meant for her, and in her mind she anathematised the Pilot-fish for his fatuous blunder, Cécile for her self-complacency, and herself for being so silly as to let the man persist in his error as to her identity. "You might let the rest of us see 'em," grumbled Bell. "Hereafter, tack 'em up on the mainmast. Don't know, however, that I approve of my daughter receivin' verses from a long-haired yellow tom-cat...." "Nonsense!" said Cécile, sharply, and wishing that she had not spoken. Bell subsided, glared, and savagely crunched the leg of a sorarail. His eyes passed to Hermione. "Bless my soul!" he cried. "I believe Hermione's jealous! Look at the jade!" Hermione was jealous, and her vivid cheeks and sapphire eyes showed it. But more than being jealous was she irritated and disgusted as well at the whole absurd situation. She determined to abolish the poet as a pilot-fish, and that before she was twelve hours older. Matters were in this nervous state when Applebo, having made his dessert of a plate of soup, arose suddenly and made his graceful and light-footed way toward the door. For a man of his size and weight he moved like a dancer. As he passed Wood's party he bowed, with a quick, flashing smile. Bell, who was gobbling a _filet au cœur d'artichaut_, looked after him with a sort of resentful admiration. Being short and fat and red, and formerly black-haired, he found much to admire in the physical appearance of Applebo. "Not a bad-looking chap," said he, grudgingly. "Looks rather as I should think Heldstrom might have looked when he was a youngster." Hermione looked startled. She had never thought of it before, but what her father's keen eyes had discovered was quite true. There was a great deal about Applebo that suggested Heldstrom, and the voices of the two men were identical, barring the huskiness which many years of full-throated commands had put into the tones of Heldstrom. "Have you decided on your next jump?" asked Wood, of Bell. Bell glanced around the table. "What do you all say to Bermuda?" he asked. "It ain't the season, of course, but it would be rather good fun to see if he tackles it." "Bad time of year," said Hermione. "There's always a West Indian hurricane in August or September." "Can't feaze us," said Bell. "It might feaze the Pilot-fish," said Paula. "Suppose anything were to happen him."