"Eh!"

"Jest sound her, so to speak; find out whether she likes me."

"Nae, nae," answered the engineer hastily. "I've enough troubles of me ain, an' I'm no goin' tae do anither body's coorting."

"Tell you what, Mac," went on Smith coaxingly, "you shall be best man at the wedding."

"Ye're verra generous, but it's no' the job I'm speerin' after."

"All right, you can give us a wedding present then."

"Eh! Weel, mebbe I'd be ye'r best mon gin ye were marrit."

"Half a mo, Mac," said the second-mate, as the engineer made another attempt to escape. "You don't think there's any one else in the runnin', do you?"

"It's a verra deeficult question tae answer," replied McPhulach.

"How d'you mean?"

"There is an' there isna'."

"What the devil are you driving at?"

"I mean that she's wishfu' tae marry the skeeper, an' he's no wishfu'

tae be marrit."

"Crikey!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Smith, the look of pleasurable antic.i.p.ation dying out of his face. "Who told you that?"

"Ony fu' wi' a pair o' een in his held could hae telt ye that."

"I guessed she was a bit gone on him at first, but blimey, I never thought she was in love with him--why, he's old enough to be her father, I should say. Besides, he's only got one eye, and you can't call him handsome, look at him any way you like."

"I told ye women hae quare tastes."

"Well, if I ain't a better man to look at than that one-eyed old crock aft, I'll eat my bloomin' hat."

"I wouldna advise ye tae mak' rash promises," answered McPhulach, and managed to slip out of the cabin before Smith could detain him.

For a time the amorous second-mate lay still, trying to make up his mind as to the best and most effective manner of declaring his pa.s.sion to Miss Fletcher. McPhulach's reference to the Captain, though it had disconcerted him at the moment, upon mature consideration seemed so preposterous that he had found no difficulty in dismissing it from his mind. The more he thought over his matrimonial scheme, the more convinced he became that, in marrying him, Miss Fletcher would be a very fortunate young woman. Besides, she would have the inestimable privilege of keeping him "straight," which would, no doubt, provide her with an interest in life. Women, he believed, liked reforming, and his future wife would have ample opportunity for indulging in this hobby. She might, in time and with patience, even effect a permanent reform.

Little guessing the good fortune in store for her, Dora Fletcher stood on the bridge with a s.e.xtant in her hands, "shooting the sun," it being then exactly at the meridian. This was the first time since they had been overtaken by the hurricane that a chance had occurred for taking observations. For the last two or three days the ship's approximate position could only be ascertained by dead reckoning, and, therefore, it was necessary to correct this at the earliest opportunity. Having concluded her observations, marked the _Hawk's_ position on the chart, and laid out the course, the girl lay down on the settee to try and make up a little for the inadequate amount of sleep she had had during the last forty-eight hours. Later on in the day she again visited the Captain's cabin. He was sleeping when she went in, and it was evident that his condition had improved. Having given the steward some further instructions, she went to Smith's cabin to see how he was getting on.

"Well, how do you feel this evening?" she inquired on entering.

"Pretty fair, thanks," answered the invalid with a deep sigh.

"Your leg's not hurting you?"

"Oh no, my leg ain't hurting me."

"Then what's the matter? You seem rather melancholy."

"I've been thinkin'," said Smith still more gloomily, "of me future."

"Your future?"

"Yes. A man lyin' on a sick bed gets queer notions into his head, especially if he's got brains."

"But why should you worry about the future?" asked the girl, puzzled.

"Your leg will soon be all right, and you'll be able to go on duty again."

"The fact is," replied Smith, suddenly becoming confidential, "I'm thinking of settlin' down."

"Yes?"

"A man like me, who's always led a rovin' life, so to speak, wants an anchor. A home and wife and kids, and so on."

"Then you're thinking of getting married?" asked the girl innocently.

"That all depends," he answered. "Although you mightn't think it, I'm rather a particular sort of cove. Of course I've got my faults----" and he waved an arm as if to signify that he also had his virtues, which were too obvious to specify.

Miss Fletcher, not feeling called upon to make any comment, remained silent, and, after a moment or two, Smith went on.

"What I want is a young woman who understands men of my sort. A woman with a bit of spirit, mind you, not bad-lookin', and able to turn her hand to 'most anything."

"H'm; I should think you'd better advertise, stating all your requirements."

"No need," replied Smith triumphantly. "I've got the very woman in my eye."

"Oh? That ought to save you a lot of trouble, not to say expense,"

answered the girl with a touch of irony, which, however, Smith failed to perceive.

"Yes, but the trouble is that I ain't quite certain yet whether she'll have me," he said.

"I should think the easiest way out of the difficulty would be to ask her," she replied, wholly ignorant of the direction in which the second-mate's laborious confidences were tending.

"You don't think she'd be offended if I did?"

"Good gracious, how should I know!"

"Better than you think, p'raps," replied Smith mysteriously. "Shall I tell you her name?"

"Really, Mr. Smith, I don't think it concerns me in the slightest what the lady's name is."

"But it does!" he almost shouted, raising himself on his elbow and staring at her hard.

For the first time Dora Fletcher began to see the trend of all this. She rose from the locker upon which she had been seated.