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The sound of voices suddenly arrested Captain Pott's fork in mid-air, and the morsel of untasted salt-mackerel dangled uncertainly from the points of the dingy tines as he swung about to face the open door. Fork and mackerel fell to the floor as the seaman abruptly rose and stalked outside. The stern features of the rugged old face sagged with astonishment as he blinked at the small army of men swarming over his littered yard. 'Mornin', Cap'n, cheerily called Hank Simpson, the village storekeeper, as he approached the irate man on the stoop.

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