“It was with the intention of making myself known, that I have taken this step,” said I, entirely unabashed (for impudence begets in me its like—­perhaps my only martial attribute).  “We have a common subject of interest, to me very lively; and I believe I may be in a position to be of some service to a friend of yours—­to give him, at least, some very welcome information.”

The last clause was a sop to my conscience:  I could not pretend, even to myself, either the power or the will to serve Mr. Carthew; but I felt sure he would like to hear the Flying Scud was burned.

“I don’t know—­I—­I don’t understand you,” stammered my victim.  “I don’t have any friends in Honolulu, don’t you know?”

“The friend to whom I refer is English,” I replied.  “It is Mr. Carthew, whom you picked up at Midway.  My firm has bought the wreck; I am just returned from breaking her up; and—­to make my business quite clear to you—­I have a communication it is necessary I should make; and have to trouble you for Mr. Carthew’s address.”

It will be seen how rapidly I had dropped all hope of interesting the frigid British bear.  He, on his side, was plainly on thorns at my insistence; I judged he was suffering torments of alarm lest I should prove an undesirable acquaintance; diagnosed him for a shy, dull, vain, unamiable animal, without adequate defence—­a sort of dishoused snail; and concluded, rightly enough, that he would consent to anything to bring our interview to a conclusion.  A moment later, he had fled, leaving me with a sheet of paper, thus inscribed:—­

Norris Carthew,

Stallbridge-le-Carthew,

Dorset.

I might have cried victory, the field of battle and some of the enemy’s baggage remaining in my occupation.  As a matter of fact, my moral sufferings during the engagement had rivalled those of Mr. Sebright; I was left incapable of fresh hostilities; I owned that the navy of old England was (for me) invincible as of yore; and giving up all thought of the doctor, inclined to salute her veteran flag, in the future, from a prudent distance.  Such was my inclination, when I retired to rest; and my first experience the next morning strengthened it to certainty.  For I had the pleasure of encountering my fair antagonist on his way on board; and he honoured me with a recognition so disgustingly dry, that my impatience overflowed, and (recalling the tactics of Nelson) I neglected to perceive or to return it.

Judge of my astonishment, some half-hour later, to receive a note of invitation from the Tempest.

“Dear Sir,” it began, “we are all naturally very much interested in the wreck of the Flying Scud, and as soon as I mentioned that I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, a very general wish was expressed that you would come and dine on board.  It will give us all the greatest pleasure to see you to-night, or in case you should be otherwise engaged, to luncheon either to-morrow or to-day.”  A note of the hours followed, and the document wound up with the name of “J.  Lascelles Sebright,” under an undeniable statement that he was sincerely mine.