The mate nodded acquiescence. "What about Mr. Chalk?" he said, in a low
voice. "Can't you get it out of him?"

[Illustration: The "Fair Emily"]

"Shuts up like an oyster directly I get anywhere near it," replied the
captain; "sticks to it that it is a yachting trip and that Tredgold is
studying the formations of islands. Says he has got a list of them he is
going to visit."

"Mr. Tredgold was talking the same way to me," said the mate. "He says
he's going to write a book about them when he goes back. He asked me
what I thought'ud be a good title."

"I know what would be a good title for him," growled Brisket, as Mr.
Stobell came on deck and gazed despondently over the side. "We're
getting towards the end of our journey, sir."

"End?" said Mr. Stobell. "End? I don't believe there is an end. I
believe you've lost your way and we shall go sailing on and on for ever."

He walked aft and, placing himself in a deckchair, gazed listlessly at
the stolid figure of the helmsman. The heat was intense, and both
Tredgold and Chalk had declined to proceed with a conversation limited
almost entirely on his side to personal abuse. He tried the helmsman,
and made that unfortunate thirsty for a week by discussing the rival
merits of bitter ale in a pewter and stout in a china mug. The helmsman,
a man of liberal ideas, said, with some emotion, that he could drink
either of them out of a flower-pot.