They proceeded to finish the repast, and then sought the office, for their reckoning.  Later, they strolled toward the water front.  Fitzgerald, during moments when the talk lagged, thought over the meeting.  There was a false ring to it somewhere.  If Breitmann had been turned down in all the offices in New York, there must have been some good cause.  Newspapers were not passing over men of this fellow’s experience, unless he had been proved untrustworthy.  Breitmann had not told him everything; he had even told him too little.  Still, he would withhold his judgment till he heard from New York on the subject.  Cathewe hadn’t been enthusiastic over the name; but Cathewe was never inclined to enthusiasms.

Passing the angle of the freight depot brought the little harbor into full view.  A fine white yacht lay tugging at her cables.

“There’s a beauty,” said Fitzgerald admiringly.

“She looks as if she could take care of herself.  How fresh the green water-line looks!  She’ll be fast in moderate weather; a fair thousand tons, perhaps.”

“A close guess.”

“I understand she belongs to my employer.  I hope he takes the sea soon.  I suppose you know that I have knocked about some as a sailor.”

“That will help you into the good graces of the admiral.”

“How dull and uninteresting the coast-lines are here!  No gardens, no palms, nothing of beauty.”

“You must remember the immensity of this coast and that our summers are really less than three months.  Here comes one who can tell us about the yacht,” cried Fitzgerald, espying the peg-legged sailor.  “I say!” he hailed, as the old sailor drew nigh; “you are on the Laura, are you not?”

“Yessir.  An’ I’ve bin on her since she wus commissioned as a pleasure yacht, sir.  Capt’n.”

“Ah!”

“Fought under th’ commodore in th’ war, sir; an’ he knows me, an’ I knows him; an’ when Flanagan is on th’ bridge, he doesn’t signal no pilots between Key West an’ St. Johns.”

“I am visiting the admiral,” said Fitzgerald, amused.

“Oh!” Captain Flanagan ducked, with his hand to his cap.  On land, he was likely to imitate landsmen in manners and politeness; but on board he tipped his hat to nobody; leastwise, to nobody but Miss Laura, bless her heart!  “I reckon one o’ you is th’ new sec’rety.”

“Yes, I am the new secretary,” replied Breitmann, unsmiling.

“Furrin parts?”

“Yes.”

“Well, well!” as if, while he couldn’t help the fact, it was none the less to be pitied.  “You’ll be comin’ aboard soon, then.  Off for th’ Banks.  Take my word for it, you’ll find her as stiddy as one o’ your floatin’ hotels, sir, where you don’t see no sailor but a deck hand as swabs th’ scuppers when a beam sea’s on.  Good mornin’!” And Captain Flanagan stumped off toward the village.

Breitmann shrugged contemptuously.