staterooms all have brass double beds and private bathrooms attached;
she has her own wireless telegraph and telephone, refrigerating
apparatus, and everything to make the owner and his guests comfortable.
But her beautiful furnishings were tumbled this way and that in
preparation for the sterner duties that lay before her. The lower deck
was cumbered with sacks of coal lashed down. A transatlantic voyage in
January is likely to be a lively one for a yacht of 500 tons.

I found Tommy below in his bunk, cleaning up. He is a typical Dutch
lad--round, open face, fair hair, and guileless blue eyes. He showed me
all his treasures--his certificates of good conduct from all the ships
(both sail and steam) on which he has served; a picture of his mother,
who died when he was six; and of his sister Greta--a very pretty
girl--who is also mentioned in _Casuals of the Sea._ The drunken fireman
in the story who dies after a debauch was Tommy's father who died in the
same way. And with these other treasures Tommy showed me a packet of
letters from Mr. McFee.

I do not want to offend Mr. McFee by describing his letters to this
Dutch sailor-boy as "sensible," but that is just what they were. Tommy
is one of his own "casuals"--

--those frail craft upon the restless Sea
Of Human Life, who strike the rocks uncharted,
Who loom, sad phantoms, near us, drearily,
Storm-driven, rudderless, with timbers started--

and these sailormen who drift from port to port on the winds of chance
are most in need of sound Ben Franklin advice. Save your money; put it
in the bank; read books; go to see the museums, libraries, and art