" A note of the hours
followed, and the document wound up with the name of
"J. Lascelles Sebright," under an undeniable statement
that he was sincerely mine.
"No, Mr. Lascelles Sebright," I reflected, "you are
not, but I begin to suspect that (like the lady in the
song) you are another's. You have mentioned your
adventure, my friend; you have been blown up; you have
got your orders; this note has been dictated; and I am
asked on board (in spite of your melancholy protests)
not to meet the men, and not to talk about the
FLYING SCUD, but to undergo the scrutiny of some one
interested in Carthew--the doctor, for a wager. And
for a second wager, all this springs from your facility
in giving the address." I lost no time in answering the
billet, electing for the earliest occasion; and at the
appointed hour a somewhat blackguard-looking boat's
crew from the NORAH CREINA conveyed me under the
guns of the TEMPEST.
The ward-room appeared pleased to see me; Sebright's
brother officers, in contrast to himself, took a boyish
interest in my cruise; and much was talked of the
FLYING SCUD; of how she had been lost, of how I had
found her, and of the weather, the anchorage, and the
currents about Midway Island.
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