"I wouldn't want to have my peculiar style of beauty spoiled by smallpox
marks," said the ensign, with a smile on his homely, winning face. "And
I've a hunch that that ship is not a lucky find for this ship."

"Then I've a hunch that your hunch is a wrong one," said Ives. "How long
would you guess that craft to be?"

[Illustration: A schooner comporting herself in a manner uncommon on the
Pacific]

They were now within a mile of the schooner. Edwards scrutinised her
calculatingly.

"Eighty to ninety feet."

"Say 150 tons. And she's a two-masted schooner, isn't she?" continued
Ives, insinuatingly.

"She certainly is."

"Well, I've a hunch that that ship is a lucky find for any ship, but
particularly for this ship."

"Great Caesar!" cried the ensign excitedly. "Do you think it's
_her_?"

A buzz of electric interest went around the group. Every glass was
raised; every eye strained toward her stern to read the name as she
veered into the wind again. About she came. A sharp sigh of excited