"There _is_ a look o the little man about the kid," he said--"kind o gal-like look--all eyes, and spirit, and long chin. Funny thing!--I've always noticed the best biys to fight are them as got most gal about em."

The purser's steward tripped up.

"Mr. Caryll, sir, Commander Harding desires to see you in his cabin."

"Told you, Sonny," crowed the Gunner. "It's to give you a certificate for valour, and a drop o brandy on a lump o sugar."

II

A purser's glim lit the cabin, bare save for a solitary print upon the bulk-head.

Facing it stood the old Commander, broad as a wall, his hands behind him, and the scent-bottle, unstoppered now, in one of them.

Kit recognised the face on the wall at once. It was Nelson's.

"That you, Mr. Caryll?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can ye read French?"

"A little, sir."

"Then what ye make o this?"

He thrust a hand behind him, never turning.

Kit took from it a tiny roll of tissue paper, and unfolded it.

"Shall I begin, sir?... It's headed _Merton, [Footnote: Merton was at this time the seat of Lady Hamilton.] 17th, 2 a.m._, and goes on--" he translated, stumbling--

_Everything is going beautifully. There is only one man for England to-day; and for him there is only one woman. She is the absolute master of her N., and he of Barham and the Board. The_ Victory _is due to-morrow. She expects him here on Monday, and will do all. The original plan holds good. He will be off Beachy Head Thursday. The_ Medusa, 44.

_A.F._

_Keep the frigate cruising. I am off to Dover at dawn to square up there. Diamond calls for me at the old rendezvous on Wednesday, and puts me on board the frigate that I may be_ in at the death _as our friends this side say._

The boy lifted dark eyes.

"It looks like a--"

The other cut him short.

"In our Service, sir, the Captain speaks when he's the mind; the First Lieutenant all the time; and the midshipmen--_never_."

He snapped fierce jaws.

"What date, d'ye say?"

"Seventeenth."

"Seventeenth, _sir_.... That's to-day, ain't it?"

The old man grunted.

"Started this morning--sharp work."

"He was riding a thorough-bred ... sir."

"What's a furrow-bred?... plough-oss?"

"Plough-horse!" sparkling scorn. "It's the best sort of horse going."

"What if it be?--I'm a sea-man myself--not a postboy.... How d'ye know he was ridin a what-d'ye-call-it?"

"He always does."

"Who does?"

"The man they call the Gentleman--the Galloping Gentleman."

"Who told you?"

"I picked it up, listening to the riding-officer."

The old man cocked an eye over his shoulder at the boy.

"I keep on a-listinin for that _sir_," he said. "Reck'n I'm hard o hearin."

He resumed his study of the face on the bulk-head. A long while he gazed: then smacked one fist into the other.

"That gal!" he muttered. "I always know'd how it'd be," and turned at last.

Taking the paper from the boy, he packed it into the scent-bottle.

"When I've laid this here in Nelson's hands," he said deliberately, "I'll be ready to say what your father said aboord the Don."