n him after the _Arabic_, and
has never ceased to play around his head. By the by, the said head was
wounded in the _Arabic_ affair, and bears a scar which runs down over
the left temple and is rather becoming. Also he got pneumonia from
exposure, and lay dangerously ill for some time. Several persons whose
lives he saved wanted to give him money, but he refused to accept. He
was nursed at a hospital in Ireland, and when he grew strong enough he
found work, in order to pay his own way to America. What he is going to
turn his hand to over there he doesn't seem to know, or won't tell.

We have a real live millionairess on the _Evangeline_ an American
millionairess from the West somewhere, a Mrs. Shuster. She's a widow,
about forty-five, common but kind. For "two twos" I believe she would
adopt the Stormy Petrel. She's been in Switzerland, where people used to
go to eat chocolate and see mountains, and where they now go to make
proposals of peace. I believe she made some, but nobody listened much,
so she came away disappointed and fiercely determined to do good
somewhere or know the reason why! She's a stout, wildly untidy woman
whose mouse-coloured hair is always coming down, though it's freely
dotted with irrelevant tortoise-shell combs; and whose elaborate clothes
look somehow insecure, the way scree does on the side of a mountain. Her
ideas leap out of her brain like rabbits out of holes, and then go
scuttling away again, to be followed ineffectively by others: and her
latest is benefiting the Ship's Mystery. She's sure he can't be
American, because Americans don't have eyes like wells of ink, and
short, close black beards like those of English or Italian naval
officers. Her theory is that he's a subject of some belligerent country,
who has conscientious scruples against fighting. The fact that he sailed
from New York on the _Lusitania_ last spring can't convince the lady
that she is wrong in her "deductions," as Sherlock Holmes would say. It
only complicates the mystery a little and adds ramifications.

To my mind, Mr. Storm hasn't at all the look of a man opposed to
fighting. I believe he would love it. The odd thing to me is, where
there's such wide opportunity on one side or the other, that he isn't
doing it. And Jack thinks so, too. I do hope he isn't a spy or an
anarchist, or a person who takes passage on ships to blow them up or
signal to submarines or something.

Of course I haven't suggested such horrors to