have foreseen. He had encouraged the fever, he had practically sown the
seeds; but, strangely, he was amazed, more disconcerted than he had been
for years by the consequences. For it was not his way to disturb himself
over anything. His principles were easy to laxness. But that Toby--the
urchin he had sheltered and nursed like a sick puppy--should have done
this thing somehow cut clean through his complacence.

"I'm going to give you a licking for that," he said, black brows drawn to
a stern line. "You can go below and wait for it."

Toby went like an arrow, and Saltash spent the next half-hour pacing the
deck, cursing himself, the youngster, and the insane and ridiculous Fate
that had linked them together.

Then he went below to administer judicial corporal punishment to a human
being for the first time in his life. As he himself whimsically expressed
it, he had received ample correction during his own chequered career; but
he had never been in a position to correct anyone else.

He found Toby waiting for him in his shirt-sleeves, rather white but
quite composed, his riding-switch all ready to his hand.

"Ever been flogged before?" he asked him curtly as he picked it up.

"No, sir," said Toby, with downcast eyes.

"Why not?" There was a gibing note in Saltash's voice. "Never qualified
before?"

Toby shot him a swift and nervous glance that was like a flash of blue