he? I'll get my coat."

"And how do I know when she'll come, supposing she does come to this
place you're talking about?"

"You want me to tell you that!" said the bosun in a faint voice, lifting
his broad features to the heavens in protest. "I thought you knew," he
added, looking down again at Mr. Spokesly.

"Sometime before daylight," muttered that gentleman, getting up. "I'll
go with you, but mind, you got to stand by to row me back whenever I
want you. Understand? No going off with your _matelots_. Nice thing, if
anything should happen and me out o' the ship."

"All right, all right. You don't need to get sore with your own bosun,"
said Plouff. "I can tell you, you might have a worse one. Here's me,
sits all the evening, playin' rummy and one eye on the ship from that
American bar, and all you can do's get sore. What do you think I am, a
bum? If it hadn't been for me havin' my eyes about me in Port Said, them
A-rabs would ha' stove her in against the next ship twenty time. Me
sittin' up half the night makin' fenders. Oh, yes!"

"Come on then. You're as bad as the Old Man when it comes to chewing the
rag. Can you talk French like that?"

"As good as English. Faster. More of it. I know more French words than
English."

"Lord help us." Mr. Spokesly poked the tiller-bar into the rudder and
hung the latter over the stern of the boat, which Plouff had been
hauling along to the gangway. "Now then. Got a lantern? Don't light it.
Bear away."

Instructed by Plouff, Mr. Spokesly steered due east away from the ship
and concealed by it from the eyes on watch on the warships. Then after
half a mile he turned sharply about and Plouff slowed down until the
boat just moved through the water and they were quite lost in the
intense darkness. Plouff said:

"Now we got nothing to be scared of except searchlights. But it's only
Wednesday night they work 'em."

"Why do you get only Frenchmen at this place?" asked Mr. Spokesly.

"Because it's near their hospital and rest-camp. The English are all
down by the Bersina Gardens. So the Frenchies go to talk to the poilus.
French sailors don't have much truck with English sailors, you can bet."

"Well, you wouldn't if you couldn't talk to them either," retorted Mr.
Spokesly. "Now where do we go in?"

"Ship the rudder," said the bosun. "I'll fetch round myself."

They were now in the profound shadows of a short back-water formed by
the corner of the old _cafe-chantant_ and cinema