hat," returned Captain
Hamilton. "If you're hungry it doesn't do much good to look at the
hole in a doughnut. There isn't much nourishment except in the
doughnut itself," and he grinned over his little joke.

The wind held fair for the rest of the day, and the schooner kept on at
a spanking gait, reeling off the miles steadily. By night the
increasing warmth of the air showed how rapidly the South was drawing
near.

Ruth was a good sailor and felt no bad effect from the long ocean
swells as the ship ploughed over them. Drew, too, who had no sea-going
experience at all and had inwardly dreaded possible sea-sickness, was
delighted to find that he was to be exempt.

Parmalee, however, although he had traveled extensively, had never been
immune from paying tribute to Neptune. He ate but little at the
noon-day meal, and when the rest gathered around the table at night he
did not appear at all.

Drew felt that he should be sympathetic, and, to do him justice, he
tried to be. He visited Parmalee in his cabin, condoled with him, and
offered to be of any possible service. But Parmalee wanted nothing
except to be let alone, and, with the consciousness of duty done, Drew
left him to his misery and joined the rest at the table.

"I'm awfully sorry for poor Mr. Parmalee," remarked Ruth, as she poured
Drew's tea.

"Poor fellow," chimed in the young man perfunctorily.

"You don't say that as though you meant it at all," objected Ruth
reprovingly.

"What do you expect me to do?" laughed Drew. "Weep bitter tears? I'll
do it if you want me to. In fact, I'll do anything you want me to
do--jump through a hoop, roll over, play dead, anything at all."

"I didn't know you had so many accomplishments," remarked Ruth, with a
touch of sarcasm.

"Oh, I'm a perfect wonder," replied the young man. "There isn't
anything I can't do or wouldn't do--for you," he added, dropping his
voice so only she could hear it.

Ruth, however, pretended not to hear, and addressed her next remark to
Grimshaw.

"How do you like Wah Lee's cooking?" she asked.

"Fine," replied Tyke. "There's no better cooks anywhere than the
Chinks. Want to look out that he don't slip one over on you, though,
if the victuals run short. Might serve up cat or rat or something of
the kind an' call it pork or veal. An' he'd probably git away with it,
too."

Ruth gave a little shudder.

"Cat might not be so bad at that," remarked her father. "Down in
Chi