ade the girl start
and blush, and turn to her neighbour with sudden interest. Again and
again they mentioned "Sidi-bel-Abbes," which meant nothing for Max until
he heard the girl say "La Legion Etrangere." Immediately the
recollection of a book he had read flashed into Max's brain. Why, yes,
of course, Sidi-bel-Abbes was a place in Algeria, the headquarters of
the Foreign Legion, that mysterious band of men without a country, in
whom men of all countries are interested. What was there in the subject
of the Foreign Legion to attract such a girl? Could she be going alone
to Sidi-bel-Abbes, hoping to find some lost relative--a brother,
perhaps? She asked the man eager questions, which Max could not hear,
but the big fellow shook his bullet-shaped head. Evidently he had little
information to give on the subject which specially appealed to her; but
there were others on which he held forth volubly; and though the girl's
attention flagged sometimes, she could have been no more gracious in her
manner to the common fellow if he had been an exiled king. "_La Boxe_"
were the words which Max began to hear repeated, and a boxer was what
the man looked like: a second or third rate professional. Max wished
that he could catch what was being said, for boxing was one of his own
accomplishments. He boxed so well that once, before he was twenty-one,
he had knocked out his master, an ex-lightweight champion, in three
rounds. Since then he had kept up his practice, and the sporting set
among the officers at Fort Ellsworth had been proud of their Max Doran.

Every moment the weather grew worse, and one after another the few
second-class passengers who had dared to risk dining faded away. At
last, about halfway through the badly served meal, the girl got up with
a wan little smile for her talkative neighbour, and went out, keeping
her balance by catching at the back of a chair now and then. The
bullet-headed man soon followed, charging at the open door like a bull,
as a wave dropped the floor under his feet. But Max, priding himself on
his qualities as a sailor, managed to sit through the meagre dessert.

The girl was not visible on the rain-swept deck, or in the gloomy
reading-room, where Max glanced over old French papers until his optic
nerves sent imperative messages of protest to his brain. Then he strayed
on deck again, finding excuse after excuse to keep out of his cabin,
where no doubt a seasick roommate was by this time wallowing and