n with feelings of not
unmixed gratification. Then officers who had been seated with the
General's staff had to vacate in favor of Mrs. Frank and Dr. Prober and
Lieutenant Billy Gray, whose father and the chief were long-time chums,
and the Red Cross nurses who had been at the first officer's table fell
back to that of the third. It was every bit as good as the other, but it
didn't sound so, and they couldn't see it; and there were faces sour as
the product of the ship's baker when that evening all hands went down to
dinner, and the silence maintained, or the ominously subdued tone of the
talk, at the other tables, was in marked contrast with the hilarity that
prevailed where sat the gray-haired, ruddy-cheeked old chief and the
laughing coterie that listened to the fun that fell from the lips of
Witchie Garrison. Armstrong, silent and somber, at the captain's right,
looking forward from time to time, saw only one face at the General's
table that was not lighted up with merriment; it was the face of the boy
he envied, if envy of this kind ever entered into his heart, and he
wondered as he looked at Billy's curly head what could have come over
that glad young life to leave so deep a shadow on his handsome face.

One night, just one week later, Armstrong's eyes were opened. More than
once in the meanwhile he had invited the young officer's confidence, and
Billy, who three months earlier had been all gratitude and frankness,
protested there was nothing on his mind. He had been very ill, that was
all. As to Canker's charges they were simply rot. He hadn't the faintest
inkling what had become of the purloined letters any more than he had of
the whereabouts of his Delta Sig friend, young Morton, now officially
proclaimed a deserter. But Armstrong heard more tales of Witchie's
devotions to him in his illness, and the slow convalescence that ensued,
noted how the boy's eyes followed her about the deck, and how many a time
he would seek her side, even when other men were reading, walking or
chatting with her. Armstrong looked with wonderment that was close allied
to incredulity and pain. Was it possible that this blithe lad, who had
won such a warm interest in the heart of such a girl as Amy Lawrence,
could be forgetful of her, faithless to her, and fascinated now by this
selfish and shallow butterfly? It was incredible!

But was it? The days had grown hotter, the nights closer, and the air
between decks was stifling when the sea