“Be ’anged, I can’t make a speech, after all,” he grumbled; and wheeling suddenly on Heywood, with a peevish air of having been defrauded:  “Aboard ship I could sit and think up no end o’ flowery talk, and now it’s all gone!”

He stared at his plate miserably.  It was Miss Drake who came to his rescue.

“Tell us the secret,” she begged.  “How do you manage all these nice things?”

The captain’s eyes surveyed the motley collection down the length of the bright table, then returned to her, gratefully:—­

“This ain’t anything.  Only a little—­bloomin’—­”

“Impromptu,” suggested Heywood.

“That’s the word!” Captain Kneebone eyed them both with uncommon favor.  “That’s it, ye know.  I just ’opped about Saigong like a—­jackdaw, picking up these impromptus.  But I came here all the way to break the news proper, by word o’ mouth.”

He faced the company, and gathering himself for the effort,—­

“I’m rich,” he declared.  “I’m da—­I’m remarkable rich.”

Pausing for the effect, he warmed to his oratory.

“It ain’t for me to boast.  Sailormen as a rule are bad hands to save money.  But I’ve won first prize in the Derby Sweepstake Lott’ry, and the money’s safe to my credit at the H.K. and S. in Calcutta, and I’m retired and going Home!  More money than the old Kut Sing earned since her launching—­so much I was frightened, first, and lost my sleep!  And me without chick nor child, as the saying is—­to go Home and live luxurious ever after!”

“Ow!” cried Nesbit, “lucky beggar!”—­“Sincerely glad,” said Mr. Forrester.  And a volley of compliments went round the board.  The captain plainly took heart, and flushing still redder at so much praise and good will, stood now at ease, chuckling.

“Most men,” he began, when there came a lull, “most men makes a will after they’re dead.  That’s a shore way o’ doing things!  Now I want to see the effects, living.  So be ’anged, here goes, right and proper.  To Miss Drake, for her hospital and kiddies, two thousand rupees.”

In the laughter and friendly uproar, the girl sat dazed.

“What shall I say?” she whispered, wavering between amusement and distress.  “I can’t accept it—­”

“Nonsense!” grumbled Heywood, with an angry glance.  “Don’t spoil the happiest evening of an old man’s life.”

“You’re right,” she answered quickly; and when the plaudits ended, she thanked the captain in a very simple, pretty speech, which made him duck and grin,—­a proud little benefactor.

“That ain’t all,” he cried gayly; then leveled a threatening finger, like a pistol, at her neighbor.  “Who poked fun at me, first and last?  Who always came out aboard to tell me what an old ass I was?  Fixed ideas, eh?  No go?—­Look you here.  What did I come so many hundred miles for?  To say what I always said:  half-shares.”  The light-blue eyes, keen with sea-cunning and the lonely sight of many far horizons, suffered an indescribable change.  “My boy, the half’s yours.  There’s two rich men here to-night.  I’ve come to take you Home.”