u?"

"I'll put you ashore at Bystermouth," said the skipper, with a grin.
"You're a deserter, that's what you are, and I'll take care you're took
care of."

"You put me ashore!" roared Private Bliss, with a very fine imitation of
the sergeant-major's parade voice.

"Get out and walk," said the skipper contemptuously, over his shoulder,
as he walked off.

"Here," said Mr. Bliss, unbuckling his belt, "hold my tunic one of you.
I'll learn 'im."

Before the paralysed crew could prevent him he had flung his coat
into Bill's arms and followed the master of the _Merman_ aft. As a
light-weight he was rather fancied at the gymnasium, and in the all too
brief exhibition which followed he displayed fine form and a knowledge
of anatomy which even the skipper's tailor was powerless to frustrate.

The frenzy of the skipper as Ted assisted him to his feet and he saw his
antagonist struggling in the arms of the crew was terrible to behold.
Strong men shivered at his words, but Mr. Bliss, addressing him as
"Whiskers," told him to call his crew off and to come on, and shaping
as well as two pairs of brawny arms round his middle would permit,
endeavoured in vain to reach him.

"This," said the skipper, bitterly, as he turned to the mate, "is what
you an' me have to pay to keep up. I wouldn't let you go now, my lad,
not for a fi' pun' note. Deserter, that's what you are!"

He turned and went below, and Private Bliss, after an insulting address
to the mate, was hauled forward, struggling fiercely, and seated on the
deck to recover. The excitement passed, he lost his colour again, and
struggling into his tunic, went and brooded over the side.

By dinner-time his faintness had passed, and he sniffed with relish at
the smell from the galley. The cook emerged bearing dinner to the cabin,
then he returned and took a fine smoking piece of boiled beef flanked
with carrots down to the forecastle. Private Bliss eyed him wistfully
and his mouth watered.

For a time pride struggled with hunger, then pride won a partial victory
and he descended carelessly to the forecastle.

"Can any o' you chaps lend me a pipe o' baccy?" he asked, cheerfully.

Bill rummaged in his pocket and found a little tobacco in a twist of
paper.

"Bad thing to smoke on a empty stomach," he said, with his mouth full.

"'Tain't my fault it's empty," said Private Bliss, pathetically.

"Tain't mine," said Bill.

"I've 'eard," said the cook, who was a tenderhearte