urned all day, and when his fellow officers had
gone, and he was alone, he reread the letter.

"Sarcasm and contempt between every line," he muttered. "She expected
me--the whole town expected me--to come back and lick that fellow.
Well"--his eyelids became rigidly parallel--"I'll do it. When I find
him, I'll get shore leave for both of us, take him home, and square the
account."

This resolution did him good; the heat left his cheek, and the sudden
jump of the heart did not come with the occasional thought of the task.
Gradually the project took form; he would learn what ship Forsythe was
in, get transferred to her, and when in port arrange the shore leave. He
could not fight him in the navy, but as man to man, in civilian's
clothing in the town park, he would fight him and thrash him before the
populace.

It was late when he had finished the planning. He lighted a last cigar,
and sauntered around the deck until the cigar was consumed. Then he went
to his room and turned in, thinking of the caustic words of Miss
Florrie, forgiving her the while, and wondering how she looked--grown
up.

They were pleasant thoughts to go to sleep on, but sleep did not come.
It was an intensely hot, muggy night, and the mosquitoes were thick. He
tried another room, then another, and at last, driven out of the
wardroom by the pests, he took refuge in the steward's pantry, and
spreading his blanket on the floor, went to sleep on it.

CHAPTER II

He slept soundly, and as he slept the wind blew up from the east,
driving the mosquitoes to cover and bringing with it a damp,
impenetrable fog that sank down over the navy yard and hid sentry from
sentry, compelling them to count their steps as they paced.

They were scattered through the yard, at various important points, one
at the gangway of each ship at the docks, others at corners and
entrances to the different walks that traversed the green lawn, and
others under the walls of the huge naval prison.

One of these, whose walk extended from corner to corner, heard
something, and paused often to listen intently, his eyes peering around
into the fog. But the sound was not repeated while he listened--only as
his footfalls sounded soggily on the damp path were they punctuated by
this still, small sound, that he could not localize or remember.

If asked, he might have likened it to the rustling of paper, or the
sound of a cat's claws digging into a carpet.

But at last it ceased, and h