sight of a patch of sunshine sliding to and fro on the deck of
the chart-room, when there was a gentle tap at the door. The
Captain's steward entered, carrying a handsome uniform.

"Six bells, sir," he said. "Your bath is laid on."

Gissing was not very sure just what time it was, but the steward
held out a dressing gown for him to slip on, so he took the hint,
and followed him to the Captain's private bathroom where he
plunged gaily into warm salt water. He was hardly dressed before
breakfast was laid for him in the chart-room. It was a breakfast
greatly to his liking--porridge, scrambled eggs, grilled kidneys
and bacon, coffee, toast, and marmalade. Evidently the hardships
of sea life had been greatly exaggerated by fiction writers.

He was a trifle bashful about appearing on the bridge in his blue
and brass formality, and waited a while thinking Captain Scottie
might come. But no one disturbed him, so by and bye he went out.
It was a brisk morning with a fresh breeze and plenty of
whitecaps. Dancing rainbows hovered about the bow when an
occasional explosion of spray burst up into sunlight. Mr. Pointer
was on the bridge, still gazing steadily into the distance. He
saluted Gissing, but said nothing. The quartermaster at the wheel
also saluted in silence. A seaman wiping down the paintwork on
the deckhouse saluted. Gissing returned these gestures
punctiliously, and began to pace the bridge from side to side. He
soon grew accustomed to the varying slant of the deck, and felt
that his footing showed a nautical assurance.

Now for the first time he enjoyed an untrammelled horizon on all