"Oh, no! I'm afraid we don't uth the dungeonth in the Tower," said that slender youth, while Miss Depew, entirely feminine and smiling like a morning glory now, noted all the details of his peaked cap and the gold stripes on his sleeve. "We put them in country houtheth and feed them like fighting cockth, and give them flower gardenth to walk in." He turned to Captain Abbey joyously, and lisped over Mr. Neilsen's head: "That wath a corking metthage of yourth, captain. I believe we got three of them right in the courth you would have been taking to-day. You'll hear from the Admiralty about thith, you know. It wath magnifithent! Good-bye!" He saluted smartly, and taking Mr. Neilsen tightly by the arm helped him down to the deck of the _Ruth_. "Good-by and good luck!" called Captain Abbey. He beamed over the bulwarks of the _Hispaniola_ like a large red harvest moon through the thin mist that began to drift between them. "Good-by, Mr. Neilsen!" called Mr. and Mrs. Pennyfeather, waving frantically. "Good-by, Herr Krauss!" said Miss Depew; and the dainty malice in her voice pierced Mr. Neilsen like a Röntgen ray. But he recovered quickly, for he was of an elastic disposition. He was already looking forward to the home comforts which he knew would be supplied by these idiotic British for the duration of the war. The young officer smiled and saluted Miss Depew again. He was a very ladylike young man, Mr. Neilsen had thought, and an obvious example of the degeneracy of England. But Mr. Neilsen's plump arm was still bruised by the steely grip with which that lean young hand had helped him aboard, so his conclusions were mixed. The engines of the _Ruth_ were thumping now, and the _Hispaniola_ was melting away over the smooth gray swell. They watched her for a minute or two, till she became spectral in the distance. Then the youthful representative of the British Admiralty turned, like a thoughtful host, to his prisoner. "Would you like thum tea?" he lisped sympathetically. "Your Uncle Hyathinth mutht have given you an awfully anxiouth time." Herr Krauss grunted inarticulately. He was looking like a very happy little Bismarck. III THE CREATIVE IMPULSE Undoubtedly Captain Julius Vandermeer had made a pile of money. A Dutch sea-captain who had been the chief owner of his vessel in the first two years of the war was a lucky dog. A couple of voyages might bring him more than he could hope to make in half a century of peace. If he were lucky enough to make forty or fifty successful voyages across the Atlantic he could do exactly what Captain Vandermeer had done--retire from the sea, invest his money, look for a handsome young wife, and expect the remainder of his years to mellow round him like an orchard, dropping all the most pleasant fruits of life at his feet. Best of all, despite the gray streaks in his bushy red beard, he was only half-way through the forties, and he knew how to enjoy himself.