“Oh, nonsense, daddy!” cried the daughter. “Of course, if one wanted absolutely artistic effects, maybe so; but what I’d want would be just some ‘homy’ pictures of the decks, the sails, the things about us. Ah, I love it all so! You don’t know, dad, how I’ve missed the old _Ruby Light_! Come now, just a half dozen.” She whirled on me. “You’re with me, aren’t you, Mr. Grey?” With her? Well, rather! Nor could I see the slightest harm in my saying so. “Why, I think it would be fine!” I exclaimed enthusiastically. One can imagine my bewilderment at the result that immediately followed my concurrence. Stroth’s features took on what was almost a defiance, and a defiance that was directed at Stevens; while the little captain favored me with a scowl that carried actual anger. And, just like a schoolboy that has been permitted to break some bounds, Stroth trotted happily down the companionway in search of one of his cameras. The next half hour he spent in the full delight of his hobby, and he certainly had the knack of poising his subject; he knew composition--had it all at his finger tips. But from the first of the picturetaking, Stevens had excused himself on the strength of working his reckoning, and I didn’t see him till supper time. We three, however, got along famously, and, when supper did come, we fell to like so many children in a heartiness which even Stevens’ sour looks couldn’t check. Supper done, the table was cleared, and we played fan-tan till four bells. “Early hours aboard this packet!” cried Stroth boyishly. “And ten o’clock’s a good bedtime. Off and away with you now, girlie.” She kissed him on the cheek, and bade us each a happy good night. I still believe mine was the best. There was a certain hesitancy about it that I relished immensely. Stroth turned to me as soon as she had left us. “Saki will show you your stateroom, Grey. I’ve even managed to drum up a change or two of clothes, which may be a bit overlarge for you, but----” “But, under circumstances which brought me aboard your----” I certainly had taken a wrong tack, for he cried out sharply: “A pleasure trip to Savannah, remember!” “I beg pardon!” I hastened to say, as I followed the Jap who had popped into sight at the sound of a buzzer. But before I gained the stateroom assigned me, and had closed the door, I heard Stroth ask Stevens: “How’s the wind blowing?” “There’s a point or two more no’th’ard to it, but it holds about the same strength, and, of course, it’s fair.” “Fine!” ejaculated the owner. “So we ought to be about off Montauk to-morrow morning, oughtn’t we?” “About that,” replied the skipper. Then he lowered his tone just as I was closing my door in dismissal of the Jap. I couldn’t catch a word, but the voice carried solicitude of some sort. Then came Stroth’s reply; rather a petulant one, I thought: “Yes, yes, Stevens; I promise. Yes, yes, of course!”