etired to our
cabin and returned with one like it. A few minutes later I found him and
the young man seated in camp-chairs side by side engaged in a
conversation in which Kinney seemed to bear the greater part. Indeed, to
what Kinney was saying the young man paid not the slightest attention.
Instead, his eyes were fastened on the gangplank below, and when a young
man of his own age, accompanied by a girl in a dress of rough tweed,
appeared upon it, he leaped from his seat. Then with a conscious look at
Kinney, sank back.

The girl in the tweed suit was sufficiently beautiful to cause any man
to rise and to remain standing. She was the most beautiful girl I had
ever seen. She had gray eyes and hair like golden-rod, worn in a fashion
with which I was not familiar, and her face was so lovely that in my
surprise at the sight of it, I felt a sudden catch at my throat, and my
heart stopped with awe, and wonder, and gratitude.

After a brief moment the young man in the real Harvard hat-band rose
restlessly and, with a nod to Kinney, went below. I also rose and
followed him. I had an uncontrollable desire to again look at the girl
with the golden-rod hair. I did not mean that she should see me. Never
before had I done such a thing. But never before had I seen any one who
had moved me so strangely. Seeking her, I walked the length of the main
saloon and back again, but could not find her. The delay gave me time to
see that my conduct was impertinent. The very fact that she was so
lovely to look upon should have been her protection. It afforded me no
excuse to follow and spy upon her. With this thought, I hastily returned
to the upper deck to bury myself in my book. If it did not serve to keep
my mind from the young lady, at least I would prevent my eyes from
causing her annoyance.

I was about to take the chair that the young man had left vacant when
Kinney objected.

"He was very much interested in our conversation," Kinney said, "and he
may return."

I had not noticed any eagerness on the part of the young man to talk to
Kinney or to listen to him, but I did not sit down.

"I should not be surprised a bit," said Kinney, "if that young man is no
end of a swell. He is a Harvard man, and his manner was most polite.
That," explained Kinney, "is one way you can always tell a real swell.
They're not high and mighty with you. Their social position is so secure
that they can do as they like. For instance, did you notice that he