Thomas was a busy man up to and long after the hour of sailing. His

cabins were filled with about all the variant species of the race: two

nervous married women with their noisy mismanaged children, three young

men on a lark, and an actress who was paying her husband's expenses and

gladly announced the fact over and through the partitions. Three bells

tingled all day long, and the only thing that saved Thomas from the

"sickbay" was the fact that the bar closed at eleven. And a rough

passage added to his labors. No Henley this voyage, no comfy loafing

about the main-deck in the sunshine. A busy, miserable, dejected young

man, who cursed his folly and yet clung to it with that tenacity which

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makes prejudice England's first-born.

Night after night, stretched out wearily on his bunk, the sordid

picture of Lumpy Joe's returned to him. By a hair's breadth! It was

always a source of amazement to recall how quickly and shrewdly his

escape had been managed. He felt reasonably safe. Jameson would never

dare tell what he knew, to incriminate himself for the sake of revenge.

To have got the best of him and to have pulled the wool over the eyes

of a keen American detective!

In Liverpool he deliberately threw away a full sovereign in

motion-pictures and music-halls. But he drank nothing, not even his

customary ale. Not so long ago he had tasted his first champagne; very

expensive, something more than two hundred pounds. Stupid ass! And

yet . . . The very life he had always been longing for, dreaming of,

behind his counters: to be free, to rove at will, to seek adventure.

"Then," said Sir Tristram, "I will fight with you unto the uttermost."

"I grant," said Sir Palomides, "for in a better quarrel keep I never to

fight, for and I die of your hands, of a better knight's hands may I

not be slain." . . .

Off for America again; and the Book of Marvelous Adventures, to be

opened wide by a pair of Irish blue eyes, deep as the sea, glancing as

the sunlight on its crests.

"You are my steward, I believe?"

In his soul of souls Thomas hoped so. "Yes, miss--indeed, yes, if you

occupy this cabin."

"Here are the tickets"; and the young lady signed the slip of paper he

gave her: Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Killigrew, Miss Killigrew and maid. "I

shall probably keep you very busy." There was a twinkle in her eyes,

but he was English and did not see it.




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