“It was great fun, wasn’t it, Mr. Grey? And I was certainly put out when dad made me stick to my stateroom last night, when we were getting under way.” Here Stroth interrupted: “You know you were all tired out, dear, and I thought it best that you should----” “Oh, I knew enough to realize that a captain of a ship has the right of life and death over all aboard,” she bantered, taking me along with her infectious laughter, “and I just obeyed.” Stroth smiled whimsically as he retorted: “I certainly am boss when you’re around, honey. There can be no denying that; I’m just positively tyrannical.” She greeted this with a delightful hilarity, that fully riveted any verdict of the love between this father and daughter. But for all his excellent acting, I could read considerable perturbation in Stroth. “Well, sure enough, dad, I didn’t really mean to interrupt you, but Saki told me that dinner would be ready in about five minutes, and I just----” That instant she caught sight of the plate in the tray, and made a step toward it, adding: “I certainly hope I didn’t spoil----” But, before she could get a fair look, Stroth sprang past her, and caught up the tray. “No, no, Stella,” said he, “you didn’t spoil anything. It’ll be all right. You see, I----” He kept whirling the solution across the face of the plate. “Oh, daddy, let me see!” cried the girl ingenuously, and she checked his arm in its gyration. For one brief moment I saw mingled annoyance and consternation flash over his features. Then they cleared to a decision, and the next second I witnessed its carrying out. “Wait!” he exclaimed suddenly, as she made as if to peer into the tray itself. “You might get your dress or hands stained. Come now, I’ll take the plate out itself. It’s about fixed, anyway.” He reached his forefinger into the hypo in a measured groping for the edge of the glass, but his eye held me full as he withdrew it. “Here, now girlie,” and he lifted it clear of the liquid. She stuck her little head out prettily, her arms back of her, against possible drip. But she saw nothing, for the negative fell to the floor, where it was shattered to a thousand pieces! “Oh, oh, daddy!” she cried, in genuine grief. “Why, it’s nothing at all, honey,” said he. “I was just showing Mr. Grey my method of developing, and the picture wasn’t a bit valuable. It’s no matter, except to show how clumsy and butter-fingered I’ve got to be. Come, let’s see what that yellow lad’s got for dinner.” Once more I read my part for silence as we filed from the dark room and across the outer stateroom, but mystery was gathering thick about me. “Butter-fingered! He, indeed!” I muttered to myself, as I brought up the rear. “His hand’s as steady as a rifleman’s, and he had just told me he wouldn’t take fifty dollars for that negative. I guess I’d better go slow in confab for a while.” CHAPTER XI. CAPTAIN STEVENS AGAIN.