Eric shook his head.
"Not for mine," he answered; "I've a notion there's enough going on right around here. Anyhow, the Gulf of Mexico will feel good after a norther like this," and he shivered in his uniform, for the wind was nipping.
"How would it feel to be somewhere around Point Barrow now?" his friend suggested.
"It might be all right if a fellow were used to it, and dressed for it. At that, I don't believe I'd want to put in a whole winter up in that country. It isn't so much the actual cold I'd hate as it would be having to stay indoors half the time because it was too cold to go outside." He sniffed the salt air. "Guess my folks have been sea-dogs too many hundred years for me to cotton to anything that means indoors."
"Me, too," said his chum. "From what I know about the Miami, what's more, I don't believe we're going to spend too much time ashore. When are we sailing, have you heard?"
"Day after to-morrow, I believe," Eric replied. "We're going right down to our southern station."
"The Gulf?"
"Yes, and Florida waters as far north as Fernandina," was the answer.
"The sooner the quicker, so far as I'm concerned," said the other, as they strolled below.
Two days later the Miami was steaming down Chesapeake Bay. The weather was ugly and there was a little cross-current that kept the cutter dancing. Eric had his sea legs, after his summer on the Bear, but he was surprised to find how different was the motion of a steamer and a sailing ship. The other junior lieutenant, whom he had already come to like rather well, laughed as Eric stumbled at a particularly vicious roll.