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 on deck, chatting, under the wondrous spell of the Southern Cross.

"It is a mystery to me," Tempest said one evening while they were leaning over the rail and watching the antics of a shoal of flying-fish, "how people can spend their lives cooped up in cities and factories, working like slaves to pay big rents and getting mighty little pleasure out of it all, when a life like this is possible. I suppose, really, we can't all go to sea, and lots of folk would think this was rotten compared with an evenings in a movie palace, but I know which I like best, yes, siree. Why did n't you wait till your father said you could come, Dave? What was it about the old sea that got you?"

"Don't know," replied Dave reflectively. "It seemed to be growing on me gradually without my knowing it, though of course I always knew I should be a sailor sooner or later. I think what really set me off was talking to an old man who was painting the side of a ship. He yarned for