- mander of the newest and best cruiser in the United
States.
Jack has heard of "Fighting Dave," and he scans the famous naval officer with much interest. A figure slightly below the average, but stockily built; a cheerful visage, face weather-beaten and innocent of beard, surmounted by a shock of grizzly hair; eyes whose keen expression might well belie the jovial look upon the face—this is Capt. David Meade, U.S.N.
"Good face," thinks Ashley, as he completes his scrutiny. "I should like to know Capt. Meade personally, and I will."
With his customary assurance and easy grace Ashley approaches the autocrat of the quarterdeck and tenders his card.
Capt. Meade glances at the pasteboard and then his keen eyes wander to the newspaper man. Apparently the scrutiny is satisfactory, for the bronzed face wrinkles into the most benign of smiles and a tremendous fist grasps Jack's right hand with a grip which causes him to mentally question his ability to write up the trial trip, or anything else, for a week at least.
"So you are from the Hemisphere?" Capt. Meade observes. "Well, I like that paper and one of its representatives is heartily welcome to my ship. In these days of sentiment and gush and peace and good-will and brotherly love, and so forth, and so forth, it does my heart good to get hold of a paper which isn't afraid nor ashamed to speak right out in meetin' for the land we live in and the flag that floats above it. But come below, Mr. Ashley, and we'll clinch the sentiment with a toast." And the captain leads the way to his sumptuous quarters, where the "splicing of the main brace" is accomplished with alacrity and vigor by commander and newspaper man.
"Well, what do you think of the America?" asks the captain. "Did you ever see anything like that on a vessel going over twenty knots an hour?" setting his glass, filled to the brim, on the table. The surface of the liquid is scarce more ruffled than that of a mirror.
