are sailing in unknown waters. The study of women, my
dear Abeuchadnezzar--"

"Peta," retorted Abeuchapeta, irritably.

"I stand corrected. The study of women, my dear Peter," said Morgan, with
a wink at Conrad, which fortunately the seventh-century pirate did not
see, else there would have been an open break--"the study of women is more
difficult than that of astronomy; there may be two stars alike, but all
women are unique. Because she was this, that, or the other thing in your
day does not prove that she is any one of those things in our day--in
fact, it proves the contrary. Why, I venture even to say that no
individual woman is alike."

"That's rather a hazy thought," said Kidd, scratching his head in a
puzzled sort of way.

"I mean that she's different from herself at different times," said
Morgan. "What is it the poet called her?--'an infinite variety show,' or
something of that sort; a perpetual vaudeville--a continuous performance,
as it were, from twelve to twelve."

"Morgan is right, admiral!" put in Conrad the corsair, acting temporarily
as bo'sun. "The times are sadly changed, and woman is no longer what she
was. She is hardly what she is, much less what she was. The Roman Gynaeceum
would be an impossibility to-day. You might as well expect Delilah to open
a barbershop on board this boat as ask any of these advanced females
below-stairs to sew buttons on a pirate's uniform after a fray, or to keep
the fringe on his epaulets curled. They're no longer sewing-machines--they
are Keeley motors for mystery and perpetual motion. Women have views
now--they are no longer content to be looked at merely; they must see for
themselves; and the more they see, the more they wish to domesticate man
and emancipate woman. It's my private opinion that if we are to get along
with them at all the best thing to do is to let 'em alone. I have always
found I was better off in the abstract, and if this question is going to
be settled in a purely democratic fashion by submitting it to a vote, I'll
vote for any measure which involves leaving them strictly to themselves.
They're nothing but a lot of ghosts anyhow, like ourselves, and we can
pretend we don't see them."

"If that could be, it would be excellent," said Morgan; "but it is
impossible. For a pirate of the Byronic order, my dear Conrad, you are
strangely unversed in the ways of the sex which cheers but not inebriates.
We can no more ignore their presence upon this boat