sion. "I'll have a talk with the fellow later on."
And then he walked away, to think the matter over. He was much perplexed, and hardly knew what to do next. Would it be possible to corner Polk, and, if so, would the game be worth the candle?
"The thing happened so many years ago, and at the best the matter would drag through the courts, perhaps for years," he reasoned. "And to prosecute the Polks would take a lot of money, which I haven't got. It looks like a wild-goose chase."
Major Morris found him seated on a camp-chair in a corner of the deck, deep in thought. The sun had set far over the land in the west; and the stars were peeping forth one by one, dotting the flowing and rolling ocean with innumerable tiny lights. At the bow of the transport a dozen soldiers were singing,—one old favorite of home after another,—and at the stern somebody was strumming a banjo, and two privates were doing a "buck and wing" dance to the delight of the onlookers.
"You look serious, lieutenant," observed the major, as he dropped in a chair beside Gilbert.
"I feel a bit serious," was the answer, with a quiet smile. "Major, I should like your advice."
