“We’re going among savages,” continued Mr. Stobell, casting about for arguments; “cannibal savages.”

“They won’t eat her,” said Mrs. Chalk, with a passing glance at the scanty proportions of her friend, “not while you’re about.”

“I don’t like to take my wife into danger,” said Mr. Stobell, with surly bashfulness; “I’m—­I’m too fond of her for that.  And she don’t want to come.  Do you, Alice?”

“No,” said Mrs. Stobell, dutifully, “but I want to share your dangers, Robert.”

“Say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ without any trimmings,” commanded her husband, as he intercepted a look passing between her and Mrs. Chalk.  “Do-you-want-to-come?”

Mrs. Stobell trembled.  “I don’t want to prevent Mr. Chalk from going,” she murmured.

“Never mind about him,” said Mr. Stobell.

“Do—­you—­want—­to—­come.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Stobell.

Her husband, hardly able to believe his ears, gazed at her in bewilderment.  “Very well, then,” he said, in a voice that made the tea-cups rattle.  “Come!”

He sat with bent brows gazing at the table as Mrs. Chalk, her face wreathed in triumphant smiles, began to discuss yachting costumes and other necessities of ocean travel with the quivering Mrs. Stobell.  Unable to endure it any longer he rose and, in a voice by no means alluring, invited Mr. Chalk into the garden to smoke a pipe; Mr. Chalk, helping himself to two pieces of cake as evidence, said that he had not yet finished his tea.  Owing partly to lack of appetite and partly to the face which Mr. Stobell pressed to the window every other minute to entice him out, he made but slow progress.

The matter was discussed next day as they journeyed down to Biddlecombe with Mr. Tredgold to complete the purchase of the schooner, the views of the latter gentleman coinciding so exactly with those of Mr. Stobell that Mr. Chalk was compelled to listen to the same lecture twice.

Under this infliction his spirits began to droop, nor did they revive until, from the ferry-boat, his eyes fell upon the masts of the Fair Emily, and the trim figure of Captain Brisket standing at the foot of the steps awaiting their arrival.

“We’ve had a stroke of good luck, gentlemen,” said Brisket, in a husky whisper, as they followed him up the steps.  “See that man?”

He pointed to a thin, dismal-looking man, standing a yard or two away, who was trying to appear unconscious of their scrutiny.

[Illustration:  “He pointed to a thin, dismal-looking man.”]

“Peter Duckett,” said Brisket, in the same satisfied whisper.

Mr. Stobell, ever willing for a free show, stared at the dismal man and groped in the recesses of his memory.  The name seemed familiar.

“The man who ate three dozen hard-boiled eggs in four minutes?” he asked, with a little excitement natural in the circumstances.

Captain Brisket stared at him.  “No; Peter Duckett, the finest mate that ever sailed,” he said, with a flourish.  “We’re lucky to have the chance of getting him, I can tell you.  To see him handle sailormen is a revelation; to see him handle a ship——­”