playing tennis, and after a while he'll say: 'That's so; I wonder what
ever did become of that? But'--maybe another look across at the tennis
court--'that'll turn up again, no fear.'

"But it won't," concluded the flag yeoman, with a smile we could have
buried one of his tin letter-files in; "for we were two hundred miles
out of Hong-kong at that time, steaming 14.6 miles an hour through the
China Sea, and you know it's good and deep there. And now"--he rolled
flat on his back, balanced his neck on the head-rest under the bulkhead
light, and his fat book on his chest--"now I'm not advising anybody, and
particularly not you, Fatty, but that's the way a competent yeoman, with
a little advice from a couple of old shipmates, laid that hose-pipe
ghost of other days. But mind, I'm not telling you to go and do anything
like that."

"No, of course not," says our captain's yeoman, and rubs his fat chin.
"Of course not."

"But if you do," says Dalton, and sets his head sideways to see how
Reginald was taking it--"if you do, you'd make a hit with your skipper,
you betcher--only he'd never tell you."

"Why wouldn't he, if he liked it?"

"Why? 'Twouldn't be regulations. And now, you fellows, beat it. Seven
bells gone and the Old Man is due aboard at twelve o'clock. And
sometimes he takes a notion to go cruising around the cabin country
before he turns in. Besides, I want a chance to peruse a little
improving literature before I turn in myself. So beat it, all of you."