ing that the steamer was
not in line with the target. Perhaps, though, that was the safest place
to be. Some one told about a derelict that was anchored as a target off
the heads, and shot at for fifteen hours without being touched once. Oh,
they were great gunners at the Presidio! But just the same the sound of
cannon was a fine thing to hear; it excited one. A noisy party of
gentlemen already installed in the smoking-room came out on deck for a
moment with their cards in their hands, and declared laughingly that the
whole thing was only a salute in the _Santa Rosa's_ honour.

By the middle of the afternoon, Vandover began to see that for him the
trip was going to be tedious. He knew no one on board and had come away
so hurriedly that he had neglected to get himself any interesting books.
He spent an hour or two promenading the upper deck until the cold wind
that was blowing drove him to the smoking-room, where he tried to
interest himself in watching some of the whist games that were in
progress.

It surprised him that he could find occasion to be bored so soon after
what had happened; but he no longer wished to occupy his mind by
brooding over anything so disagreeable and wanted some sort of amusement
to divert and entertain him. Vandover had so accustomed himself to that
kind of self-indulgence that he could not go long without it. It had
become a simple necessity for him to be amused, and just now he thought
himself justified in seeking it in order to forget about Ida's death. He
had dwelt upon this now for nearly four days, until it had come to be
some sort of a formless horror that it was necessary to avoid. He could
get little present enjoyment by looking forward to the new life that he
was going to begin and in which his father, his art, and Turner Ravis
were to be the chief influences. The thought of this prospect did give
him pleasure, but he had for so long a time fed his mind upon the more
tangible and concrete enjoyments of the hour and minute that it demanded
them now continually.

He sat for a long time upon the slippery leather cushions of the
smoking-room trying desperately to become interested in the whist game,
or gazing awestruck at the man at his elbow who was smoking black
Perrique in a pipe, inhaling the smoke and blowing it out through his
nose. After a while he returned to the deck.

There it was cold and wet and a strong wind was blowing from the ocean.
Four miles to the east an endless pr