Ronald found himself humming it as he went to bed, and then fell to sleep, and dreamt the dark girl he had seen that day in Valletta was the "lubly gal" he loved.
* * * * *
Next morning they were out of sight of land, afloat on the blue waters, with the blue sky above them. Ronald was up early, as he found it too hot to remain below, and having had his tub and arrayed himself in his flannels, he went on deck to have a smoke before the ladies put in an appearance. The lascars were washing down the deck, and disturbing numerous sleepers who had been taking their rest all night upstairs for the sake of coolness. One of these was Pat, who came stumbling out of the smoking-room in his pyjama, with a fur rug under one arm and a pillow under the other.
"Hullo Pat," said Monteith, laughing; "you look as if you were going to the pawnbroker."
"I want to go to bed," retorted Pat crossly; "those divils in the smoking-room always commence shyin' pillows in the morning, and I'm as sleepy as Rip Van Winkle. I'll have another forty winks."
"Nonsense," said Ronald, looking at his watch; "it's about seven; go and have your bath and join me on deck."
"All roight," assented Pat, with a gigantic yawn; "I daresay cold water will wake me up."
"And, I say," called out Monteith, as Pat rolled along towards the saloon, "knock up Ventin; his cabin is No. 43."
"Roight you are," from Pat, as he disappeared.
Ronald took a turn along to the end of the hurricane deck and, after surveying the slumbering forms in the smoking-room, walked back again. Just as he got to the captain's cabin he saw a steward emerge therefrom with horror and alarm on his face.