that supplied its greatest charm; consequently,
every sensible word from Mr. Batseye's lips
only served to confirm his determination.

"I believe, Mr. Batseye," said Philip, "a
man to ten tons is the usual thing. We are
but twenty-five, and really we are not quite
such novices as you seem to imagine. As for
any difficult mutters, we have Hopsetter."

"Why, according to the very rule you
mention – one from which it is often necessary to
depart – you will require," said Mr. Batseye,
"at all events, a boy."

"Humph!" said Philip, "a boy. Well, eh,
Harry?"

"I shouldn't mind a boy, provided he is a
boy," said I, stoutly.

"He – that is, the boy I should recommend –
is, perhaps, one of the smallest you ever saw.
You might have him on board," said Mr.
Batseye, carelessly, "whether you use him or
not."

"Let the – the urchin," said Philip, "be on
board by nine bells to-morrow. We shall
certainly start at that hour."

"Nine o'clock, sir! Very good." And Mr.
Batseye, apparently smothering a smile, took
his departure.

The weather, next morning, was all that
could be desired. The lightest imaginable
breeze just crisped the glassy surface of the sea.
It might, in short, have been a day expressly
devised for such a light-heels as the Minnie
Jimps. My friend was longer than usual over
his toilet; but, when he did appear, the effect
was most gratifying. He was every inch, except
the tail, the traditional British tar. His white
ducks, as loose in one part as they were tight in
another, revealed the shining tips – and only
them – of his pumps. His blue jacket, with
huge lappels, was very much thrown back. He
wore no waistcoat; but a patent leather belt
with a great gold buckle compressed his swelling
waist, almost, as he appeared to conceive,
into slenderness. On his head was a naval
officer's cap with a deep gold band.

"What cheer, my hearty? How's her head?"

Of course I made what novelists call a
"suitable reply;" after which we sat down
gaily to breakfast, and, that over, collected our
traps, not forgetting Hopsetter, and marched
down to the landing-place.

Mr. Stodger met us on the way with the
promised boy, whose sole appellation appeared to
be "Toby." He was very round and small;
had a chubby, stolid face one felt inclined to
smack, and seemed a good deal addicted to
sucking his thumb. Mr. Stodger touched his
hat, popped the baggage and the boy into
the boat, aud off we paddled towards the
yacht.

"Cowes is all alive to-day," remarked Philip,
resting on his oar. "What a lot of people
walking! There must bo something going
on."

It certainly appeared so. Besides the people
on shore, almost all the yachts had their little
party of spectators on deck, and many
already showed symptoms of getting under weigh.
The windows and balcony of the Royal Yacht
Squadron Club-house were crammed with gazers.

"I'll be hanged," said Philip, as we scrambled
on to the yacht's deck, and tied up the boat
behind it, "if I don't think they're looking at
us!"

There was no doubt of it. The glasses, of
which there were many, were one and all pointed
in our direction, and as this notice, though
flattering, was somewhat embarrassing, Bulkeley
proposed that we should take it easy, and show
ourselves in no hurry to be off, until the
interest should in some degree subside. Accordingly,
having stowed the boy in a corner out of
the way, we sat down on the convex deck, and
looked about us.

"Her prow's the wrong way," observed the
captain. "We shall have to turn her round to
get out."

"She'll come round by herself when we pull
up the anchor. The tide's going out," replied
the first lieutenant.

"Recollect, old boy," said the senior officer,
rather hastily; "you pull the rudder the way
you don't want her to go. The eyes of Cowes
are upon us – confound them! It won't do to
come to grief just here. What upon earth are
they gaping at? I vote we go."

"Ay, ay, sir," said his lieutenant, cheerily.
"Go it is!"

"I'll help you to wind up the anchor. Then
I shall take the helm."

"Come along. I say, though, don't we do
something to the sails first?"

"What's the good? We can't sail till she's
loose."

"By Jove, no, I forgot. Yo ho! Man the
windlass!"

A sort of "ch-chik" from the boy attracted
our attention; but we continued our labour.
Presently, without any jerk or sense of movement
on our part, Cowes, the gazing multitude,
the shipping, the distant heights, seemed
to be gliding swiftly away.

"She's loose!" shouted the captain. "The
sail the sail, Harry!"

I darted to the mainsail – it was rolled up
and covered with a piece of oiled canvas and,
long before I had got the latter off, we had
swept past another yacht at anchor, so close,
that we all but touched her. Some very
strong language issued from the latter, and
there were shouts from the shore; but we were
far too flurried to attend to them. The Minnie
Jimps was away with us, and there was another
vessel lying right in our course. Even Toby
took his thumb out of his mouth, and was
rushing forward, but Philip pushed him out of the
way, and flew to help me with the obstinate
fastenings of the sail.

"The helm – the helm, Philip!"

Philip bounded aft; but the Minnie scarcely
acknowledged the guiding impulse. There was
a roar from the threatened vessel, answered,
happily, by another close alongside, and Mr.
Stodger leaped upon the deck.