what's the best thing to be done? Turn back, I suppose, and set you ashore."
"But what a lot of trouble I'm putting you to."
"Nonsense! I've nothing to do, and I count myself very fortunate in having been able to render you this small assistance. The breeze is freshening, and it won't take us any time to get back. Where do you live?"
"To the left there! That house standing back upon the cliff. Really I don't know how to express my gratitude."
"Just keep that till I ask you for it. Now, as we've got a twenty minutes' sail before us, the best thing for you to do would be to slip into a spare suit of my things. They'll keep you warm, and you can return them to my hotel when you get ashore."
I sang out to my crew to come aft and take the tiller, while I escorted him below into the little box of a cabin, and gave him a rig out. Considering I am six feet two, and he only five feet eight, the things were a trifle large for him; but when he was dressed I couldn't help thinking what a handsome, well-built, aristocratic-looking young fellow he appeared. The work of fitting him out accomplished, we returned to the deck. The breeze was freshening and the little hooker was ploughing her way through it, nose down, as if she knew that under the circumstances her best was expected of her.
"Are you a stranger in Bournemouth?" my companion asked as I took the tiller again.
"Almost," I answered. "I've only been in England three weeks. I'm home from Australia."
"Australia! Really! Oh, I should so like to go out there."
