Equator as a port of call!' exclaimed Mr. Fairbanks; and they both began to laugh.

The term 'port of call' set them conversing about trade, how matters went in the City. Mr. Vanderholt talked fluently on all affairs connected with shipping. After enjoying his cigar and his chat, he re-entered his carriage, and was driven away.

Next morning, at about eleven o'clock, he was in his study, writing some letters. His daughter sat with him, reading a newspaper. A man-servant opened the door, and said that a seafaring gentleman was in the 'all, and had called by request. On a silver salver lay Mr. Fairbanks' card, and Mr. Vanderholt, after glancing at the card, told the footman to show Captain Glew in.

There entered soon, with a quick, resolved, quarter-deck stride, a short but powerfully-built man, shell-backed by ocean duties, with a face that might have been cast in light bronze, that might have served as a ship's figure-head in that metal, so roasted had it been in its day, so hard set was it, as though fresh from the pickle of the harness-cask. The flesh of the countenance had that sort of tension which does not admit of much, or perhaps any, play of emotion. The man might expel a laugh from his throat, but was he physically equal to a smile? He held a round hat, and was soberly attired in blue cloth. He looked swiftly and lightly around him, but seemed unmoved by the splendour of the apartment. He sent a keen, gray, seawardly glance at Miss Vanderholt, and fastened his gaze with an expression of attention upon her father.

Miss Vanderholt viewed him with curiosity and disappointment.

'Captain Glew?' said Mr. Vanderholt.

'That's my name, sir,' answered the captain, in a voice as decisive as his walk and air. 'I was asked to call upon you by Mr. Fairbanks.'

'Right. Sit down. I had a good many years of it myself, but did not reach the quarter-deck,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'My end was plumb with the fore-top.'

The captain seated himself, but did not smile, nor did he look as if he wanted to.

'Many years at sea, Captain Glew?'

'Thirty, sir.'

'Did you run away, as I did, from home?'

'No. I was put apprentice by my father, who had charge of a Bethel, and was a man of education.'

'Did Mr. Fairbanks explain what I wanted to see you about?'

'Yes, sir. I believe you'll find me a suitable man. I confess I'd like the job. I know the Mowbray.'

Mr. Vanderholt's face lighted up.

'I was off her in a wherry not above a fortnight ago, and we stopped to admire her. I never saw prettier lines.' Here he raised his eyes to the picture over the sideboard, as though observing it for the first time, but his face discovered no marks of enthusiasm or admiration whilst he let his sight rest for a moment on that square of splendid, spirit-moving canvas. 'My uncle was a shipbuilder,' he continued, 'and I have some knowledge of that trade. The finest examples of seaworthy craft are, in my opinion, the Baltimore clippers—some of them, at all events. The Mowbray might be the queen of that fleet, sir.'

Mr. Vanderholt glanced at his daughter, as if he should say, 'This is our man.' He then rang the bell. A footman quickly appeared.

'Wine,' said Mr. Vanderholt.

'Not for me, if you please,' said Captain Glew, lifting his hand, and bowing with a motion that made his refusal emphatic.

'What will you take?' said Mr. Vanderholt.

'Nothing whatever, I thank you, sir.'

'Are you a teetotaler?' said Mr. Vanderholt, signing to the footman to be gone.

'No, sir. I am one of those men who drink only when they are thirsty, and as I am seldom thirsty it follows that I drink little.'

'Do you know anything about fore and aft seamanship?'

Now Captain Glew smiled, but the expression was like a passing spasm.

'I do, sir. I have held command in several types of ships in my time. Seven years ago I had charge for three voyages of a fruiter from the Thames to the Western Islands.'

'That will do,' said Mr. Vanderholt, with an appreciative flourish of his hand, and a laugh of satisfaction.

'Five years ago, being in distress for a position, and having a wife and two children to maintain, I took command of a three-masted schooner to the Brazils, where I left her and returned in charge of a little barque. I then got a berth in Mr. Fairbanks' employ——'

He was proceeding, but Mr. Vanderholt had heard enough.

'I am quite satisfied,' said he. 'Now let us settle the matter straight off. That is my way of going to work. I'm not for easing away handsomely; I'm for letting go with a run. We shall want a mate, and we shall want a crew. Can I trust you to see to this business?'

'You can, sir.'

'Let the crew be blue-water men. I shall want real sailors aboard the Mowbray.'

'There's nothing like them, sir.'

'The craft lies dismantled, as you know. I leave the whole work of her being made ready for sea to you. Employ your own labour. Call upon me as the work proceeds. I shall make you several visits from time to time, for I am a man of leisure.'

'Does the young lady go with us, sir?'

'Yes.'

'You'll wish her cabin specially fitted?'

'I will see to that myself, Captain Glew.'

'Right, sir. And the voyage, I understand, is to be a cruise in the North Atlantic?'

'It is to be a run to the Equator and home.'

'It seems such an odd place to steer for,' said Miss Vanderholt, breaking the silence for the first time.

'It's as determinable as a rock, anyhow!' exclaimed Mr. Vanderholt. 'I want to be able to report a wonder when we return.' Here his Dutch countenance put on the air of good-humoured cunning with which he usually prefaced a joke. 'There is about a quarter of a mile of Equatorial water which possesses a remarkable property. Sink an object in it, and you draw it up gilt. If we strike this wonderful patch of sea, we will gild the Mowbray from waterway to truck; boats, ground-tackle—everything—shall be resplendent, and we shall be the marvel of London as we sail up the Thames.'

Miss Vanderholt watched Captain Glew, to see how he relished this sort of thing.

The skipper exclaimed austerely:

'It's a tract of water written of in books for the marines. It's not to be found at sea, sir.'

'We must strike it, man, so that we may return covered with glory.'

'Patch got any colour, sir?'

'I believe it is a blood-red. A man I once sailed with claimed to have sighted it. He was in the foretop-mast crosstrees, and saw the patch off the bow, and hailed the deck, but he squinted damnably. You can't keep a true course for anything when you squint. The captain missed the patch. No other man saw it; and the sailor, who was a Dane, was, or is, the only man in the world who has ever seen that miraculous bit of Equatorial water.'

He looked at his daughter, clearly enjoying his own imagination; and Captain Glew uttered a hollow laugh, and stood up.

'I will visit the vessel to-morrow, sir, and report. I will bring my papers along with me——'

'No need,' interrupted Mr. Vanderholt; 'Mr. Fairbanks' introduction is enough.'

The man made a nautical bow to the father and daughter, and was going, when he suddenly stopped to say:

'Are you particular as to the nationalities of the men, sir?'

'English and Dutchmen, in such proportions as may please you,' said Mr. Vanderholt; 'but never a Dago, Captain Glew. I was once stabbed by