"Oh, it's not the gettin' away," said Sandy, more certain than ever,
now that he was sure of an ally.

"Homesick?" asked Ricks, with a sneer.

Sandy gave a short laugh. "Home? Why, I ain't got any home. I've just
lived around since I was a young one. It's a chance to get on that I'm
after."

"Well, what in thunder is takin' you back?"

"I don't know," said Sandy, "'cep'n' it ain't in me to give 'em the
slip now I know 'em. Then there's the doctor--"

"That old feather-bed? O Lord! He's so good he gives me a pain. Goes
round with his mouth hiked up in a smile, and I bet he's as mean as
the--"

Before Hicks could finish he found himself inextricably tangled in
Sandy's arms and legs, while that irate youth sat upon him and
pommeled him soundly.

"So it's the good doctor ye'd be after blasphemin' and abusin' and
makin' game of! By the powers, ye'll take it back! Speak one time
more, and I'll make you swaller the lyin' words, if I have to break
every bone in your skin!"

There was an ugly look in Ricks's face as he threw the smaller boy
off, but further trouble was prevented by the appearance of the second
mate.

Sandy hurried away to his duties, but not without an anxious glance at
the upper deck. He had never lost an opportunity, since that first
day, of looking up; but this was the first time that he was glad she
was not there. Only once had he caught sight of a white tam and a tan
coat, and that was when they were being conducted hastily below by a
sympathetic stewardess.

But Sandy needed no further food for his dreams than he already had.
On sunny afternoons, when he had the time, he would seek a secluded
corner of the deck, and stretching himself on the boards with the
green book in his hand, would float in a sea of sentiment. The fact
that he had decided to study medicine and become a ship's surgeon in
no wise interfered with his fixed purpose of riding forth into the
world on a cream-white charger in search of a damsel in distress.

So thrilled did he become with the vision that he fell to making
rhymes, and was surprised to find that the same pair of eyes always
rhymed with skies--and they were brown.

Sometimes, at night, a group would gather on the steerage deck and
sing. A black-haired Italian, with shirt open at the throat, would
strike a pose and fling out a wild serenade; or a fat, placid German
would remove his pipe long enough to troll forth a mighty
drinking-song. Whenever the air was a