"Yes, miss; but the ball?"
"The ball is a secondary matter. You are my captain, and, naturally—"
"You are right. I didn't care for the ball, anyhow. It was only the fine brandy I thought of."
"I will tell Mr. Mortimer to let you have a few bottles. Captain, when does the sun rise to-morrow?"
"At 6.18 a.m."
"Good; at 6.19 you can depart."
"You will be satisfied with me. You have got a good captain, a boatswain and eight sailors. I am the smallest of the lot. Where are we going to, anyway?"
"To Algiers, captain. There is one thing more I wish to say."
"Speak, commodore."