John Gale, having abruptly left Golly at the door of St.
Barabbas' hospital, tactfully avoiding an unseemly altercation with the
cab-driver regarding her exact fare, pursued his way thoughtfully to
the residence of his uncle, the First Lord of the Admiralty. He found
his Lordship in his bath-room. He was leaning over the bath-tub, which
was half full of water, contemplating with some anxiety the model of a
line-of-battle ship which was floating on it, bottom upward. "I don't
think it can be quite right--do you?" he said, nervously grasping his
nephew's hand as he pointed to the capsized vessel; "yet they always do
it. Tell me!" he went on appealingly, "tell me, as a professing
Christian and a Perfect Man--is it quite right?"

"I should think, sir," responded John Gale, with uncompromising
truthfulness, "that the average vessel of commerce is not built in that
way."

"Yet," said the First Lord of the Admiralty, with a far-off look, "they
all do it! And they don't steer! The larger they are and the more
recent the model, the less they steer. Dear me--you ought to see 'em
go round and round in that tub." Then, apparently recalling the
probable purpose of John's visit, he led the way into his
dressing-room. "So you are in London, dear boy. Is there any little
thing you want? I have," he continued, absently fumbling in the
drawers of his dressing-table, "a few curacies and a bishopric
somewhere, but with these blessed models--I can't think where they are.
Or what would you say to a nice chaplaincy in the navy, with a becoming
uniform, on one of those thingummies?" He pointed to the bath-room.
"Stay," he continued, as he passed his hand over his perplexed brows,
"now I think of it--you're quite unorthodox! Dear me! that wouldn't do.
You see, Drake,"--he paused, as John Gale started,--"I mean Sir Francis
Drake, once suspended his chaplain for unorthodoxy, according to
Froude's book. These admirals are dreadfully strict Churchmen. No
matter! Come again some other time," he added, gently pushing his
nephew downstairs and into the street, "and we'll see about it."

With a sinking heart, John turned his steps toward Westminster. He
would go and see Golly; perhaps he had not looked after her as he
ought. Suddenly a remembered voice, in mimicking accents, fell upon
his ear with the quotation, "Do you know?" Then, in a hansom passing
swiftly by him, Golly, in hospital dress with flying ribbons, appeared,
sitting