"Oh, doctor, those pills you gave me last are by far the best ever I've had. You must let me have the prescription when we pay off. What are they composed of?'
"Now, the good doctor did not half-relish the notion of 'shop' being brought on the tapis at so fashionable a dinner-party, so he answered with emphasis:
"'What are they made of? Why, bread! Bread, sir; nothing else!'
"There was a momentary silence around the table, and everyone looked aghast to see how the reply would be taken. But the admiral was a gentleman in the truest sense of the word, and always most considerate for the feelings of others. He saw that he had touched on a very unpleasant theme, so he smiled kindly, and passed it off by saying in his quiet way:
"'Well, well, well, such is Faith!'
"But the pills were really rhubarb after all."
* * * * * * * * * * *
So with pleasant chat a whole hour passed away, and then once more the midshipmite Bobbie knocked at the door.
"It is a boat, sir. Five poor men in it. Two lying apparently dead under the thwarts. The first lieutenant has hauled the fore-yard aback and is sending some men over the side."
The Osprey, I may say here, had already visited the lovely fairy isles called The Azores, and was now well out into the Atlantic, steering about west-sou'-west.