ODD CRAFT

By W.W. Jacobs



ADMIRAL PETERS

Mr. George Burton, naval pensioner, sat at the door of his lodgings
gazing in placid content at the sea. It was early summer, and the air
was heavy with the scent of flowers; Mr. Burton's pipe was cold and
empty, and his pouch upstairs. He shook his head gently as he realised
this, and, yielding to the drowsy quiet of his surroundings, laid aside
the useless pipe and fell into a doze.

[Illustration: "Sat at the door of his lodgings gazing in placid content
at the sea."]

He was awakened half an hour later by the sound of footsteps. A tall,
strongly built man was approaching from the direction of the town, and
Mr. Burton, as he gazed at him sleepily, began to wonder where he had
seen him before. Even when the stranger stopped and stood smiling down
at him his memory proved unequal to the occasion, and he sat staring at
the handsome, shaven face, with its little fringe of grey whisker,
waiting for enlightenment.

"George, my buck," said the stranger, giving him a hearty slap on the
shoulder, "how goes it?" "D--- _Bless_ my eyes, I mean," said Mr.
Burton, correcting himself, "if it ain't Joe Stiles. I didn't know you
without your beard."