"Herbert, old boy," he exclaimed excitedly, "that's just the craft I'm looking for; ketch-rigged--the ideal sail-plan for rough work; 'Mitcham' motor, therefore no risk of being becalmed in the Tropics for weeks at a stretch. When's the next train to Southampton? We'll start at once." "But why not write for particulars first?" asked my uncle, who, though impetuous, certainly possessed a certain amount of caution. "And have the yacht snapped up under our very noses? No, no. A well-known firm like Roach & Co. would not deal in rubbish nor act as agents for any craft unless she were exactly as represented. Look sharp and get together what gear you require; and you too, Reggie. Ha, ha! I can already see myself on the deck of the 'Fortuna.'" "But how about leaving young Johnston?" "He's able to look after himself now." "Aren't you afraid he'll clear the place out and make off?" "Herbert, I don't think I am mistaken. That young fellow could be trusted anywhere. It was his misfortune, not his fault, that first led him into trouble. So I'll trust him, and I'll stake my all that my confidence will not be misplaced." As the result of my parent's hurried preparations, in less than an hour we were steaming out of Fowey Station in a train which was due at Plymouth in time to catch the 12.18 to Salisbury, a telegram having been dispatched to apprise Roach of our visit. Throughout the long journey my father, who, much to my surprise, had taken single tickets, was like the proverbial cat on hot bricks. His ill-concealed impatience reminded me forcibly of a child being taken to a toy-shop to purchase a new toy. Uncle Herbert, although also excited, managed to content himself with a couple of newspapers and some weekly journals, though I observed him surreptitiously signing the insurance coupons in the latter. For my part, I was deeply interested in the ever-changing landscape, as the red earth and vivid green foliage of Devon gave place to the dazzling chalk and duller verdure of Dorset and Wilts, till, with remarkable swiftness, the four hours passed and we glided into Salisbury station, from which I had my first glimpse of the slender, needle-like spire of the cathedral. We made a hasty change of carriages, and, notwithstanding my parent's muttered objurgations on the slowness of the train, it literally crawled into Southampton, where on our arrival I ventured to remind him that we had had nothing to eat since eight that morning--a fact that he, in his excitement, had completely overlooked. "Grin and bear it, Reggie," he replied. "If we stop here for tea we shall miss the next train to Bursledon. Once there you can eat as much as you like."