had merely reached out for her bedroom slippers,
which were six feet below, when the whole thing had turned over and
thrown her out.

She insisted that she did not remember saying anything improper, but
that the time Tish's horse had thrown her in the cemetery she had
certainly used strong language, to say the least.

I remember telling Tish this, and she justified herself by the
subconscious mind, which she was studying at the time. She said that the
subconscious mind stored up all the wicked words and impulses which the
conscious mind puts virtuously from it. And she recalled the fact that
Mr. Ostermaier, our clergyman, taking laughing gas to have a tooth
drawn, tried to kiss the dentist on coming out, and called him a sweet
little thing--though Mrs. Ostermaier is quite a large woman.

We became quite friendly with Mr. Burton during the remainder of the
voyage. He formed the habit of coming down every evening before dinner
to our cabin and having a dose of blackberry cordial to prevent
seasickness.

"I've had it before," he said on one occasion, "but never with
such--er--medicinal qualities. You don't put anything in it but
blackberries, do you?"

"Only a little alcohol to preserve it," I told him with some pride. I
generally make it myself.

"I will say this for it: It's extremely well preserved," he said, and
filled up the tooth mug again. It was after that that he told us that
Hilda had refused to marry him, and was flirting outrageously with
Captain Weber.

"I only say this," he added gloomily: "He's right when he says he
belongs in the infantry. He's got the photographs of five youngsters in
his cabin; or he did have. He's probably hidden them now."

"Why don't you tell her?" Tish demanded.

"Why should I? Let her make a fool of herself if she wants to," he said
despondently. "What chance have I against a shipload of 'em, anyhow? If
it wasn't this one it would be another. She's got her eye on a tank now,
and she's only waiting for that aviator to forget his stomach to sit at
his feet and worship. God only knows what would happen if we had a
Croix de Guerre on board."

He sat for some time, sipping the blackberry cordial and looking into
space.

"I've got it figured out this way," he said at last. "I've got to pull
off something over there. That's all. Got to get in the papers and get a
medal and a wooden leg. She'd stand for a wooden leg better than a milk
one," he added viciously.

Both Aggie an