he rule against smoking in the cabin. Then he stretched
himself out on his bunk and began reading _The Three Musketeers_.
Filippo returned before he had finished his chapter. The Italian's eyes
grew round at the tobacco smoke.

"You know Misser Jim say no smoking!"

"Mister Jim isn't here now. You mind your own business and I'll mind
mine. Get me some breakfast, will you?"

"Fire gone out while you sleep and everything grow cold. You bring some
wood and I build another."

To Percy's still overstrained nerves Filippo's way of putting the matter
suggested a condition on which the meal depended rather than a request.

"Bring it yourself!" he growled. "I'm no servant! I don't shag kindling
for any Dago!"

At this insult Filippo's olive cheeks became quite pale. Into his eyes
flashed a look Whittington had never seen there before. For an instant
he almost feared that the young foreigner was about to seize a knife
and spring upon him. Then the look passed and Filippo's color came back.

"All right!" he laughed. "No wood, no breakfast!"

Stepping out to the fish-house, he began shelling the clams he had just
dug. Percy vacillated between pride and hunger. Hunger won.

[Illustration]

"I didn't mean that, Filippo," he repented. "I beg your pardon. I'll get
the wood."

He did, and Filippo heated up the fish and potatoes. Percy tried to
engage him in conversation, but was able to extract only monosyllables
in return. Evidently his hasty words still rankled in the Italian's
breast.

Breakfast over, Percy took his book and started for the beacon. It was a
beautiful July morning. The sea rippled blue and sparkling to the
horizon. Budge was hauling his traps on the ledges around the base of
Brimstone. A half-mile farther out Jim and Throppy were busy at their
trawls. Conditions for fishing could not have been more ideal.

For a time Percy tried to read; but somehow Dumas's heroes failed to
keep his interest. The sense of contrast between his own idleness and
his mates' industry took all the pleasure out of his book. He tossed it
aside and stood up. A motor-boat was rounding the eastern point. Percy
recognized her as the _Calista_. Ordinarily he would have been glad to
exchange chaff with Captain Higgins and Brad while they dipped the
lobsters out of the car. This morning, however, he felt too much
disgruntled to joke with anybody.

A hawk with a flapping fish clutched in its talons scaled in from the
south and disap