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A few moments later the door of his cell was unceremoniously

opened and a man entered bearing an armful of fresh clothing.

"Captain Schofield," he said, with the deference of a servant,

"the captain wishes your presence at dinner. The ship's barber

will be here presently. Etiquette provides that you wear these

clothes. I will fix them and lay them out for you. If you care

for a bath, sir, I will draw it--"

"Say, look here," exclaimed our hero with a sudden and unexpected

touch of asperity, "if you're trying to kid me, old

side-whiskers, you're due for the licking of your life."

He got deliberately upon his feet and removed the fishing-coat

which he had worn uninterruptedly since the night at St. Pierre.

"I thought I'd read about you in that magazine or something, and

had fallen asleep, but here you are still in the room. I'm going

to see whether you're alive or not. No one can mention a bath to

me with impunity."