"There."
He ran his dirty thumbnail in a line to the the Gulf, and asked me what that blot was.
"Bermuda."
"You'll keep south o' that, will yer?"
"If I can, certainly."
"It's a man-o'-war station, I've heerd."
"I believe it is."
"All right," he said, and looking at the boat's compass on the table, asked if it were true.
I told him it was; whereupon he set it on the chart and compared its indications with the line he had run down the chart, and was going away, when I said—
"What do you think of the young lady's idea? I should like to earn a hundred pounds."