ve been the
idol of his class, have been a hero, have married the first girl he
loved (for heroes, curiously, either marry or die, but never remain
bachelors) and would have--but as this is a tale of fact, we must not
give rein to imagination. To come back to realism, Peter was a hero to
nobody but his mother.

Such was the man, who, two weeks after graduation from Harvard, was
pacing up and down the deck of Mr. Pierce's yacht, the "Sunrise," as she
drifted with the tide in Long Island Sound. Yet if his expression, as he
walked, could for a moment have been revealed to those seated aft, the
face that all thought dull and uninteresting would have riveted their
attention, and set each one questioning whether there might not be
something both heroic and romantic underneath. The set determination of
his look can best be explained by telling what had given his face such
rigid lines.

CHAPTER III.

A CRAB CHAPTER.

Mr. Pierce and those about him had clearly indicated by the
conversation, or rather monologue, already recorded, that Peter was in a
sense an odd number in the "Sunrise's" complement of pleasure-seekers.
Whether or no Mr. Pierce's monologue also indicated that he was not a
map who dealt in odd numbers, or showered hospitality on sons of
mill-overseers, the fact was nevertheless true. "For value received," or
"I hereby promise to pay," were favorite formulas of Mr. Pierce, and if
not actually written in such invitations as he permitted his wife to
write at his dictation to people whom he decided should be bidden to the
Shrubberies, a longer or shorter time would develop the words, as if
written in sympathetic ink. Yet Peter had had as pressing an invitation
and as warm a welcome at Mr. Pierce's country place as had any of the
house-party ingathered during the first week of July. Clearly something
made him of value to the owner of the Shrubberies. That something was
his chum, Watts D'Alloi.

Peter and Watts were such absolute contrasts that it seemed impossible
that they could have an interest or sympathy, in common. Therefore they
had become chums. A chance in their freshman year had brought them
together. Watts, with the refined and delicate sense of humor abounding
in collegians, had been concerned with sundry freshmen in an attempt to
steal (or, in collegiate terms, "rag") the chapel Bible, with a view to
presenting it to some equally subtle humorists at Yale, expecting a
similar courtesy in return