"I could not avoid doing so."

Mr. Harris related the incident.

"It was exceedingly kind of you, sir, to pass over his conduct so
lightly. The fact is, if Link Andrew had been reported again he'd
have lost his hammock in the yacht. We all want him to go; some to
get rid of him for a spell, and others because we can't help liking
the boy. He hates us back, you bet, and has hated us from the moment
he set foot on deck, five years ago . . . Whitechapel-reared, I
believe. . . . Yet fond of the sea in his way. Once shipped on the
yacht he'll behave like an angel. But here on board he's like a
young beast in a trap."



V.

Mr. Harris mooned away to the poop-deck, from the rail of which he
watched the guests arriving. As Sir Felix's gig was descried putting
off from the shore, the boys swarmed up the ratlines and out on the
yards, where they dressed ship very prettily. A brass band in the
waist hailed his approach with the strains of "Rule, Britannia!"
At the head of the accommodation-ladder a guard of honour welcomed
him with a hastily rehearsed "Present Arms!" and the boys aloft
accompanied it with three shrill British cheers. The dear old
gentleman gazed up and around him, and positively beamed.

By this time a crowd of boats had put off, and soon the guests came
pouring up the ladder in a steady stream. There were ladies in