ell-Carney warmly. "You're a good sort, after all."

They sat down at a table. Freddie stood between them, a hand on the
shoulder of each. Very seriously he was saying:

"I say, gentlemen, we can't abandon a woman at a time like this. We must
stand together. All true sports and black sheep _should_ stand together,
don't you know."

It is possible that Odell-Carney appreciated the subtlety of this
compliment. Not so Mr. Rodney.

"Sports? Black sheep? Upon my soul, sir, I don't understand you," he
mumbled. Mr. Rodney, although he hailed from Seattle, had never known
anything but a clean and unrumpled conscience.

Freddie clapped him jovially on the shoulder. "It's all right, Mr.
Rodney. I'll take your word for it. But if we are black sheep we shan't
be blackguards. We'll stand by the ship. What's to be done? Bail 'em
out?"

It is of record that the three gentlemen were closeted with the officers
and managers for an hour or more, but it is not clear that they
transacted anything that could seriously affect the situation.

Mrs. Medcroft, despite Mrs. Odell-Carney's friendly offices, refused
point blank to discuss the situation. She did not dare to do or say
anything as yet. Her husband had not telegraphed the word releasing her
from the sorry compact. She loyally decided to stand by the agreement,
no matter what the cost, until she received word from London that he had
triumphed or failed in his brave fight against the "bloodsuckers."

"I will explain to-morrow, dear Mrs. Odell-Carney," she pleaded. "Don't
press me now. Everything shall be all right. Oh, how I wish Constance
were here! She understands. But she's off listening to silly love talk
and doesn't even care what happens to me. Burton, will you be good
enough to spank Tootles if she doesn't stop that screaming?"

By nine o'clock that night every one was discussing the significant
disappearance of Constance Fowler and the fraudulent husband of Mrs.
Medcroft. Just as Mr. Odell-Carney was preparing to announce to the
unfortunate wife that the couple had eloped in the most cowardly
fashion, Miss Fowler herself appeared on the scene, dishevelled,
mud-spattered, and hot, but with a look of firm determination in her
face. She strode defiantly through the main hall, ignoring the curious
gaze of the loungers, whisking the skirt of her habit with disdainful
abandon as she passed on to the lift. A few moments later she burst in
upon her sister, a very angry young per