that fellow is laughing at us," he said to Griggs.

"There is nothing to laugh at," answered the latter, unmoved. "But of
course, if you think so, throw him downstairs."

Dalrymple laughed drily.

"There is a certain calmness about the suggestion," he said. "It has a
good, old-fashioned ring to it. You are not a very civilized young man,
considering your intellectual attainments."

"I grew up at sea and before the mast. That may account for it."

"You seem to have crammed a good deal into a short life," observed
Dalrymple. "It must have been a classic ship, where they taught Greek
and Latin."

"The captain used to call her his Ship of Fools. As a matter of fact, it
was rather classic, as you say. The old man taught us navigation and
Greek verse by turns for five years. He was a university man with a
passion for literature, but I never knew a better sailor. He put me
ashore when I was seventeen with pretty nearly the whole of my five
years' pay in my pocket, and he made me promise that I would go to
college and stay as long as my money held out. I got through somehow,
but I am not sure that I bless him. He is afloat still, and I write to
him now and then."

"An Englishman, I suppose?"

"No. An American."

"What strange people you Americans are!" exclaimed Dalrymple, and he
drank again. "You take up a profession, and you wear it for a bit, like
a coat, and then change it for another," he added, setting down his
empty glass.

"Very much like you Scotch," answered Griggs. "I have heard you say that
you were a doctor once."

"A doctor--yes--in a way, for the sake of being a man of science, or
believing myself to be one. My family was opposed to it," he continued
thoughtfully. "My father told me it was his sincere belief that science
did not stand in need of any help from me. He said I was more likely to
need the help of science, like other lunatics. I will not say that he
was not right."

He laughed a little and filled his glass.

"Poor Dalrymple!" he exclaimed softly, still smiling.

Paul Griggs raised his slow eyes to his companion's face.

"It never struck me that you were much to be pitied," he observed.

"No, no. Perhaps not. But I will venture to say that the point is
debatable, and could be argued. 'To be, or not to be' is a question
admirably calculated to draw out the resources of the intellect in
argument, if you are inclined for that sort of diversion. It is a very
good thing, a very good thi