their bilious
complexion of a deathly greenish hue. At each new roll of the
ship, they closed their eyes as if resigned to the worst that
might happen and their immediate neighbours furtively eyed each of
their movements as if apprehensive of what any moment might bring
forth. A few couples were flirting to their heart's content under
the friendly cover of the lifeboats which, as on most of the
transatlantic liners, were more useful in saving reputations than
in saving life. The deck steward was passing round tea and
biscuits, much to the disgust of the ill ones, but to the keen
satisfaction of the stronger stomached passengers who on shipboard
never seem to be able to get enough to eat and drink. On the
bridge, the second officer, a tall, handsome man with the points
of his moustache trained upwards a la Kaiser Wilhelm, was striding
back and forth, every now and then sweeping the horizon with his
glass and relieving the monotony of his duties by ogling the
better looking women passengers.

"Hello, Shirley!" called out a voice from a heap of rugs as
Shirley and Jefferson passed the rows of chairs.

They stopped short and discovered Mrs. Blake ensconced in a cozy
corner, sheltered from the wind.

"Why, aunt Milly," exclaimed Shirley surprised. "I thought you
were downstairs. I didn't think you could stand this sea."

"It is a little rougher than I care to have it," responded Mrs.
Blake with a wry grimace and putting her hand to her breast as if
to appease disturbing qualms. "It was so stuffy in the cabin I
could not bear it. It's more pleasant here but it's getting a
little cool and I think I'll go below. Where have you children
been all afternoon?"

Jefferson volunteered to explain.

"The children have been rhapsodizing over the beauties of the
ocean," he laughed. With a sly glance at Shirley, he added, "Your
niece has been coaching me in metaphysics."

Shirley shook her finger at him.

"Now Jefferson, if you make fun of me I'll never talk seriously
with you again."

"_Wie geht es, meine damen?_"

Shirley turned on hearing the guttural salutation. It was Captain
Hegermann, the commander of the ship, a big florid Saxon with
great bushy golden whiskers and a basso voice like Edouard de
Reszke. He was imposing in his smart uniform and gold braid and
his manner had the self-reliant, authoritative air usual in men
who have great responsibilities and are accustomed to command. He
was taking his afternoon stro