Finally the dogs touched noses and were friends. Pep was given an old souwester to lie upon and the steward promised to keep an eye on him while the doctor went to look for his cabin.
Although the doctor visited Pep twice that evening and he seemed snug and comfortable, yet he could not forget the horrible picture of the first mate’s having the pets of the wounded soldiers thrown overboard, so he determined to have it out with the old man as they called him the very next day.
All that night the great ship plowed her way through the darkness. Her lights were all out, but half a mile to the north and half a mile to the south a long rakish torpedo boat ran parallel with her. These were her escort. No one knew at what moment a submarine might appear, so every precaution was taken against those devils of the deep.
The following morning was bright and beautiful, with a stiff wind blowing at the ship’s bow. Every one was in the best of spirits and all danger was forgotten.
In the middle of the forenoon the doctor discovered the ship’s captain standing near the wheel. He had been talking with the man at the wheel, but he was not busy then. The moment seemed auspicious and the doctor approached him without delay.
“Sir,” he said, saluting. “I understand you like dogs.”
The captain was a man of sixty, but he looked much older. His face was wrinkled and weatherbeaten, but a smile shone through his weatherstained visage.
“Who told you that?” he asked. “It wasn’t the first mate.”
“No, sir,” returned the doctor. “It wasn’t the first mate, but you do like dogs.”
“Rather,” said the captain, looking off across the broad expanse of blue rolling sea.