an and the Arran. He had not yet read his orders, and he could not
decide what he should do, even if he discovered the two steamers in
his track. He sat in his arm chair with the door of the cabin open,
and when he saw the first lieutenant on his way to the ward room,
he called him in.

"Well, Mr. Flint, what do you think of our crew?" asked the captain,
after he had seated his guest.

"I have hardly seen enough of the men to be able to form an opinion,"
replied Flint. "I am afraid we have some hard material on board, though
there are a good many first-class fellows among them."

"Of course we can not expect to get such a crew as we had in the
Bellevite. How do you like Mr. Lillyworth?" asked the commander, looking
sharply into the eye of his subordinate.

"I don't like him," replied Flint, bluntly. "You and I have been in some
tight places together, and it is best to speak our minds squarely."

"That's right, Mr. Flint. We will talk of him another time. I have
another matter on my mind just now," added Christy.

He proceeded to tell the first lieutenant something about the two
steamers.

CHAPTER III

THE INTRUDER AT THE CABIN DOOR

Before he said anything about the Scotian and the Arran, Christy,
mindful of the injunction of his father, had closed the cabin door,
the portiere remaining drawn as it was before. When he had taken this
precaution, he related some of the particulars which had been given to
him earlier in the day.

"It is hardly worth while to talk about the matter yet awhile," added
Christy. "I have my sealed orders, and I can not open the envelope until
we are in latitude 38, and that will be sometime to-morrow forenoon."

"I don't think that Captain Folkner, who expected to be in command
of the Teaser, as she was called before we put our hands upon her,
overestimated her speed," replied Lieutenant Flint, consulting his
watch. "We are making fifteen knots an hour just now, and Mr. Sampson
is not hurrying her. I have been watching her very closely since we left
Sandy Hook, and I really believe she will make eighteen knots with a
little crowding."

"What makes you think so, Flint?" asked Christy, much interested in the
statement of the first lieutenant.

"I suppose it is natural for a sailor to fall in love with his ship,
and that is my condition in regard to the Bronx," replied Flint, with
a smile which was intended as a mild apology for his weakness. "I used
to be in love with the