"That is true," echoed Breitmann generously. He fingered the papers
with a touch that was almost a caress. "A pity that you will go to the
Arctic instead."

"I am not quite sure that I shall go," replied Fitzgerald. That this
man had deliberately lied to him rendered him indecisive. For the
present he could not do or say anything, but he had a great desire to
be on hand to watch.

"You are not your father's son if you refuse to go with us;" and the
Admiral sent home this charge with fist against palm.

"'Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!'" parroted the girl drolly. "You
will go, Mr. Fitzgerald."

"Do you really want me to?" cleverly putting the decision with her.

"Yes." There was no coquetry in voice or eye.

"When do you expect to go?" Fitzgerald put this question to the
admiral.

"As soon as we can coal up and provision. Laura, I've just got to
smoke. Will you gentlemen join me?" The two young men declined. "We
can go straight to Funchal in the Madieras and re-coal. With the
club-ensign up nobody will be asking questions. We can telegraph the
_Herald_ whenever we touch a port. Just a pleasure-cruise." The
admiral fingered the Legion of Honor. "And here was Alladin's Lamp
hanging up in my chimney!" He broke in laughter. "By cracky! that man