“Perhaps she’s fiddlesticks. Much more likely is it that she’s found another admirer. Lightly come, lightly go, you know. He’s a very nice fellow when he likes. But he’s only a mate. And if Lottie can see her way clear to pick up a skipper as easily as she picked up our mate, I reckon the poorest man has the least chance.” “Well, if that’s what’s the matter with him, I’m sorry for him. I’ve been jilted a time or two myself, and I know what it feels like. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a woman again with a view to matrimony.” “I say, how old are you?” “Twenty-two. But I’ve had experience enough for forty-two, and----” “Now don’t try to kid me any more. What about that photograph that hangs over your bunk?” “Oh, that’s my sister Nellie.” “Does your sister Nellie write on all her photographs--‘To my darling Jim, from his faithful Dora?’” “Look here. You have been poking your nose where you had no business to poke it. What about yourself?” “My dear fellow, I never saw the woman yet that I would tie myself to.” “You pretend you don’t like them?” “Nothing of the sort; I worship them. But I believe in variety, and prefer to carry a light heart from one port to another.” “How does variety affect your pocket?” “Very conveniently. I admire only respectable girls, and they never know me long enough to prove expensive. Hello, what’s up now?” As the second mate made this exclamation, he turned his eyes to what seemed to be an object of speculation to many on board. It was trailing along the water a considerable distance ahead, and was as yet somewhat difficult to distinguish. On the bridge the mate was also exercising his mind about it. “I can’t make the thing out,” he said to the man at the wheel. “It can’t be a boat of any sort; and yet, what else would you expect to see scudding on the water before the wind like that? Here, have a look, Greenaway; your eyes can see further than mine.” Greenaway did as he was bid, and, after careful observation, remarked quietly, “It’s a dismasted balloon, sir, and there are some fellows hanging on to the rigging.” “A dismasted balloon! What the deuce do you mean?” “Well, sir, I mean what I say. She’s dismasted. Leastways, her sail’s flopping about anyhow, and doesn’t help her a bit. I reckon it’s about time them fellows took to their boats. If they don’t they’ll soon be exploring Davy Jones’s locker.” “I always knew you to be a blamed fool, Greenaway; but, hang me, if you don’t get worse. What makes you call the thing a balloon?” “Why, I reckon I call it a balloon because it is a balloon. I don’t see that you can have a better reason, sir. Hello! One of the fellows has tumbled overboard. I fancy there isn’t much chance for him. By Jove! one of ’em’s jumped down on deck, and hauled him in again. Are we likely to overtake them? I would like to cheat old Davy.”