drunk this side o' Jersey City."

And with this admonition the captain drank his beer and thumped off for
the water front, satisfied that the village would hear nothing from Mr.
Donovan. Nevertheless, it was shameful to let a hundred go that easy;
twenty would have served. He was about to hail the skiff when he was
accosted by the quiet little man he had recently observed sitting alone
in the corner of Swan's office.

"Pardon, but you are Captain Flanagan of the yacht _Laura_?"

"Yessir," patiently. "But the owner never lets anybody aboard he don't
know, sir."

"I do not desire to come aboard, my Captain. What I wish to know is if
his excellency the admiral is at home."

"His excellency" rather confounded the captain for a moment; but he
came about without "takin' more'n a bucketful," as he afterward
expressed it to Halloran the engineer. "I knew right then he wus a
furriner; I know 'em. They ain't no excellencies in th' navy. But I
tells him that the commodore was snug in his berth up yonder, and with
that he looks to me like I wus a lady. I've seen him in Swan's at
night readin'; allus chasin' butterflies when he sees 'em in the
street." And the captain rounded out this period by touching his
forehead as a subtle hint that in his opinion the foreigner carried no
ballast.

In the intervening time the subject of this light suggestion was
climbing the hill with that tireless resiliant step of one born to
mountains. No task appeared visibly to weary this man. Small as he
was, his bones were as strong and his muscles as stringy as a wolf's.
If the butterfly was worth while he would follow till it fell to his
net or daylight withdrew its support. Never he lost patience, never
his smile faltered, never his mild spectacled eyes wavered. He was a
savant by nature; he was a secret agent by choice. Who knows anything
about rare butterflies appreciates the peril of the pursuit; one never
picks the going and often stumbles. He was a hunter of butterflies by
nature; but he possessed a something more than a mere smattering of
other odd crafts. He was familiar with precious gems, marbles he knew
and cameos; he could point out the weakness in a drawing, the false
effort in a symphony; he was something of mutual interest to every man
and woman he met.

So it fell out very well that Admiral Killigrew was fond of
butterflies. Still, he should have been equally glad to know that the
sailor's hobby inclined toward