for officering his yacht
with such a gruff, rather illiterate man, when gentlemen were to be had
for the asking. But Flanagan was a splendid seaman, and the admiral
would not have exchanged him for the smartest English naval-reserve
afloat. There was never a bend in Flanagan's back; royalty and
commonalty were all the same to him. And those who came to criticize
generally remained to admire; for Flanagan was the kind of sailor fast
disappearing from the waters, a man who had learned his seamanship
before the mast.

"Captain, how long will it take us to reach Funchal in the Madieras?"

"Well, Commodore, give us a decent sea an' we can make 'er in fourteen
days. But I thought we wus goin' t' th' Banks, sir?"

"Changed my plans. We'll put out in twelve days. Everything
shipshape?"

"Up to the buntin', sir, and down to her keel. I sh'd say about
six-hundred tons; an' mebbe twelve days instead of fourteen. An'
what'll be our course after Madeery, sir?"

"Ajaccio, Corsica."

"Yessir."

If the admiral had said the Antarctic, Flanagan would never have batted
an eye.

"You have spoken the crew?"

"Yessir; deep-sea men, too, sir. Halloran 'll have th' injins as us'l,
sir. Shall I run 'er up t' N' York fer provisions? I got your list."

"Triple the order. I'll take care of the wine and tobacco."

"All right, sir."

"That will be all. Have a cigar."

"Thank you, sir. What's the trouble?" extending a pudgy hand toward
the chimney.

"I'll tell you all about that later. Send up that man Donovan again."
It occurred to the admiral that it would not be a bad plan to cover Mr.
Donovan's palm. They had forgotten all about him. He had overheard.

Very carefully the captain put away the cigar and journeyed back to the
village. He regretted Corsica. He hated Dagos, and Corsica was Dago;
thieves and cut-throats, all of them.

This long time Breitmann had despatched his letters and gone to his
room, where he remained till dinner. He was a servant in the house.
He must not forget that. He had been worse things than this, and still
he had not forgotten. He had felt the blush of shame, yet he had
remembered, and white anger had embossed the dull scars; it was
impossible that he should forget.

He had grown accustomed, even in this short time, to the window
overlooking the sea, and he leaned that late afternoon with his arms
resting on the part where the two frames joined and locked. The sea
was blue