At the precise hour named, the captain, exquisitely trim in his dark uniform, with his kindly, weatherbeaten, but clean-shaven face, took his place by one of the tables and looking gently around with his keen, pleasant eyes, began the slow, impressive reading of the special prayers assigned to the seamen's service. Faith and Hope had never seen him in this role before, and the former felt her eyes fill, while the latter suddenly put out a hand and clasped her twin's in a little ecstasy of admiring appreciation. Neither had even looked towards young Allyne, nor Chester Carnegie. The latter, grave and attentive, sat near one of the open doors and followed the service without a glance about him. It was an hour of gentle solemnity, which affected even the lightest heart.
Allyne had wakened wretched, with a headache, only to be told by his friend of the grave misdemeanors of last night.
"And," added Donelson, "the captain came to ask me about it later, but you were asleep, so we let you alone."
"Heavens! Did I make such a beast of myself, Jack? You certainly exaggerate."
"Not a particle. Believe me, it's serious. The little girls were white as paper, and Carnegie looked like the marble gladiator. I tell you, you're in a pickle."
Allyne groaned and turned over in his bunk.
"Why didn't you stop me in time?" he questioned fiercely, with an oath.
"Oh, you needn't swear at me, Tom Allyne! I'm not your keeper. When you know what champagne does for you, why don't you stop yourself in time?"
"Why don't I? Because then I don't know enough to stop, idiot! The first glass goes to my head, I tell you."
"Then you'd better not touch the first glass," returned Donelson airily, as he vigorously plied his military brushes to his sleek brown poll. "It's a misfortune to be so weak in the upper story, Tom."