. Turner prefers a man to
serve."

I said that I was probably not so useful that I could not be spared,
and that I would try. Vail's suggestion had come back to me, and this
was my chance to get Williams's keys. Miss Lee having spoken to the
captain, I was relieved from duty, and went aft with her. What with the
plunging of the vessel and the slippery decks, she almost fell twice,
and each time I caught her.

The second time, she wrenched her ankle, and stood for a moment holding
to the rail, while I waited beside her. She wore a heavy ulster of
some rough material, and a small soft hat of the same material, pulled
over her ears. Her soft hair lay wet across her forehead.

"How are you liking the sea, Leslie?" she said, after she had tested
her ankle and found the damage inconsiderable.

"Very much, Miss Lee."

"Do you intend to remain a--a sailor?"

"I am not a sailor. I am a deck steward, and I am about to become a
butler."

"That was our agreement," she flashed at me.

"Certainly. And to know that I intend to fulfill it to the letter, I
have only to show this."

It had been one of McWhirter's inspirations, on learning how I had been
engaged, the small book called "The Perfect Butler." I took it from
the pocket of my flannel shirt, under my oilskins, and held it out to
her.

"I have not got very far," I said humbly. "It's not inspiring reading.
I've got the wine glasses straightened out, but it seems a lot of fuss
about nothing. Wine is wine, isn't it? What difference, after all,
does a hollow stem or green glass make--"

The rain was beating down on us. The "Perfect Butler" was weeping
tears; as its chart of choice vintages was mixed with water. Miss Lee
looked up, smiling, from the book.

"You prefer 'a jug of wine,"' she said.

"Old Omar had the right idea; only I imagine, literally, it was a skin
of wine. They didn't have jugs, did they?"

"You know the 'Rubaiyat'?" she asked slowly.

"I know the jug of wine and loaf of bread part," I admitted, irritated
at the slip. "In my home city they're using it to advertise a
particular sort of bread. You know--'A book of verses underneath the
bough, a loaf of Wiggin's home-made bread, and thou."'

In spite of myself, in spite of the absurd verse, of the pouring rain,
of the fact that I was shortly to place her dinner before her in the
capacity of upper servant, I thrilled to the last two words.

"'And thou,'" I repeated.

She looked u