“The pleasure was mine, sir, the pleasure was mine,” exclaimed the Captain with a cordiality equal to that with which he had been greeted.  He had not at first the least recollection of the young man, but the Captain was something of an amateur politician, and possessed all a politician’s expertness in facing the unknown, and making the most of any situation in which he found himself.

“Oh, yes, Lieutenant, I remember very well that excellent song you—­”

“Isn’t it a perfect night?” gasped the Lieutenant.  “I think we are to be congratulated on our weather.”

He still clung to the Captain’s hand, and shook it again so warmly that the Captain said to himself: 

“I must have made an impression on this young fellow,” then aloud he replied jauntily: 

“Oh, we always have good weather this time of year.  You see, the United States Government runs the weather.  Didn’t you know that?  Yes, our Weather Bureau is considered the best in the world.”

The Lieutenant laughed heartily, although a hollow note intervened, for the young man had got to the end of his conversation, realized he could not shake hands for a third time, yet did not know what more to say.  The suavity of the politician came to his rescue in just the form the Lieutenant had hoped.

“Lieutenant Drummond, allow me to introduce my wife to you.”

The lady bowed.

“And my daughter, Katherine, and Miss Amhurst, a friend of ours—­ Lieutenant Drummond, of the ‘Consternation.’”

“I wonder,” said the Lieutenant, as if the thought had just occurred to him, “if the young ladies would like to go to a point where they can have a comprehensive view of the decorations.  I—­ I may not be the best guide, but I am rather well acquainted with the ship, you know.”

“Don’t ask me,” said Captain Kempt.  “Ask the girls.  Everything I’ve had in life has come to me because I asked, and if I didn’t get it the first time, I asked again.”

“Of course we want to see the decorations,” cried Katherine with enthusiasm, and so bowing to the Captain and Mrs. Kempt, the Lieutenant led the young women down the deck, until he came to an elevated spot out of the way of all possible promenaders, on which had been placed in a somewhat secluded position, yet commanding a splendid view of the throng, a settee with just room for two, that had been taken from some one’s cabin.  A blue-jacket stood guard over it, but at a nod from the Lieutenant he disappeared.

“Hello!” cried Katherine, “reserved seats, eh?  How different from a theatre chair, where you are entitled to your place by holding a colored bit of cardboard.  Here a man with a cutlass stands guard.  It gives one a notion of the horrors of war, doesn’t it, Dorothy?”