"Why," said I, "if I may guess, this is one of the famous Falmouth packets?"
"As to that, sir, you are right and yet wrong. She was a packet, and (if I may say it) a famous one." His gaze travelled aloft, and, descending, rested on mine with a sort of gentle resignation. "But the old pennon is down, as you see. At present she sails on a private adventure and under private commission."
"A privateer?"
"You may call it that."
"The adventure hits my humour even more nicely. Accept me. Captain"
"Colenso."
"Accept me. Captain Colenso, for your passenger; I will not say comrade-in-arms—naval warfare being so far beyond my knowledge, which it would, perhaps, be more descriptive to call ignorance. But I can pay," I thrust a hand nervously into my breast pocket, and blessed Flora for her waterproof bag.
"Excuse me. Captain, if I speak with my friend here in private for a moment."
I drew Byfield aside, "Your notes? The salt water"
"You see," said he, "I am a martyr to acidity of the stomach."
"Man! do I invite the confidence of your stomach?"
"Consequently I never make an ascension unaccompanied by a small bottle of Epsom salts, tightly corked."
"And you threw away the salts and substituted the notes? That was clever of you, Byfield."
I lifted my voice. "And Mr. Dalmahoy, I presume, returns to his sorrowing folk?"
The extravagant cheerfully corrected me. "They will not sorrow; but I shall return to them. Of their grudged
