d.

"Oh, come now. Bivens, this is too ridiculous, a quarrel the first day
of our shooting. But you'll have to get one thing fixed in your head
once for all; you don't run the entire world. The telephone, telegraph
and mail service have been suspended. The _Buccaneer_ has put to sea
for New York. You're on a little eighty-foot schooner, anchored in a
bay ten miles wide and a hundred-miles long and I'm in command. I won't
stand any nonsense from you. Come down off your perch, quick!"

Bivens started to swear, caught the expression of Stuart's face and
suddenly extended his hand.

"I'm sorry, Jim; you must not mind my foolishness. I've had the temper
of the devil the last few months, and I'm used to making everybody hop
when I get mad. I guess I'm spoiled. Forget it, old boy, go ahead and
have a good time by yourself to-day. I'm out of sorts from that
sea-sickness. You don't mind what I said?"

"No," Stuart slowly answered, "but don't do it again."

"I won't. It was awfully nice of you to come. I'll stay in to-day, but
you go and get some ducks for dinner, like a good boy, and say--take
Nan along and teach her to shoot. It's getting to be the rage among the
high-flyers for the women to shoot."

"Please do, Jim!" Nan cried from the door. She had listened outside to
the duel in the stateroom.

"All right," he answered, gaily, "quick about it. You've got a rig?"

"Yes, a half dozen," she cried, with childish glee. "Come into my
stateroom and show me which one to put on to-day."

"Oh, you have one for each day of the week?"

"Yes, of course; why not?"

Stuart stepped gingerly inside and inspected the suits she laid out on
her bed.

He turned them over and laughed.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"They're all wrong. These things were made to hunt butterflies in the
tropics, not ducks in Virginia."

"Can't I wear either of them?" she asked in dismay.

"If you could get all six of them on, one on top of the other and wear
your flannels."

"But I don't wear flannels."

"All right, put on two of these gossamer webs, two heavy sweaters and
wrap yourself in oil skins and maybe you won't freeze."

"Must I?" she sighed; "I'll look like a fright."

"What's the difference? You've got to hide from the ducks, anyhow. No
one else will stroll down these wide avenues to-day."

"You'll be there."

He dropped his voice instinctively.

"Well, you'll always look the same to me whether you are dressed in
silk or cotton