“‘Man overboard!’ he yells, and snaps the patent life-buoy over the side, and the marine on the starboard side of the quarter he yells, ’Man overboard!’ and the marine on the after-bridge he yells, ’Man overboard!’ and the two seaman on watch on the for’ard bridge, ’Man overboard, sir!’ they yell, and the watch officer orders, ’Hard on your wheel, Quartermaster!’ and to the bosun’s mate on watch the watch officer yells, ‘Pipe the deck division to quarters!’ and the watch officer pulls a few bells and talks through three or four tubes, and in no time the ship is coming around in a circle, and up on deck came piling about two hundred lusty young seamen, and it was, ‘boats away,’ and over the side went hanging gigs and cutters and whale-boats, and then it was, ‘Search-lights all clear!’ and in about one minute the big ship was back on the spot, and in another minute and a half there were eight boats with half-dressed crews rowing around, and six big search-lights playing tag on the waters.  An hour and a half they stood by, but no sign of him and no call from him.  And then it was return to your ship, sound quarters and call the roll.  But everybody was present or accounted for, and the skipper gave the captain of marines the devil, and the marine captain gave the devil to his marine guard, the Georgia boy, who by this time was beginning to doubt that he hadn’t been asleep.

“Next afternoon the admiral was on deck taking the air, and after a while he asks, ’Where was that marine guard standing when he says he heard that air-port unscrewing and that splash last night?’ And they dug the marine out of the brig and brought him up, and he stood on the same spot leaning over the rail, and the old man stands there and takes a look down.  And he looks to see if there was an air-port handy.  And there was—­the air-port of the flag office.  ‘H’m!—­h’m!’ he says.  ’That’s all now, Lyman,’ to the marine officer.  Nothing more; but an hour later the marine was released from the brig—­nobody knew why.”

Throughout all the story Dalton had been sitting atop of the coffer-dam, hands with flat palms pressing down, and feet hanging, with heels drumming against the coffer-dam sides.  After he had done he pushed himself up by the palms of his hands, rearranged his row of tin letter-files, shifted his electric bulkhead light, picked up a fat folk-lore volume and waited, with eyes twinkling down on us, for somebody to say something.

“And how long ago was that, Dallie?” asked somebody, at last.

“Five years.”

“And never a word from the admiral?”

“Never a word.”

“H-m-ph!  Don’t you suppose—­”

“Suppose what, fat Reggie?  D’ y’ mean to hint at conspiracy between a rear-admiral of the United States Navy and an enlisted man—­a yeoman?  Why, Reggie!”

“Of course not.  But nothing more from anybody?  Not from Washington, either?”