ssities of idealism sentence to death. And I have no doubt
that many a Chinese pirate would, under other circumstances, have
developed into a very contented and useful laundry-man."

Lady Agatha studied him intently for a moment. "Mr. Cleggett," she
said, "if you will permit me to say so, a great suffragist leader was
lost when fate made you a man."

"Thank you," said Cleggett, bowing again.

He dispatched George--a person of address as well as a fighter in whom
the blood of ancient Greece ran quick and strong--on a humanitarian
mission. George was to walk a mile to the trolley line, go to
Fairport, hire a taxicab, and make all possible speed into Manhattan.
There he was to communicate with a young physician of Cleggett's
acquaintance, Dr. Harry Farnsworth.

Dr. Farnsworth, as Cleggett knew, was just out of medical school. He
had his degree, but no patients. But he was bold and ready. He was, in
short, just the lad to welcome with enthusiasm such a chance for active
service as the cruise of the Jasper B. promised to afford.

It was something of a risk to weaken his little party by sending George
away for several hours. But Cleggett did not hesitate. He was not the
man to allow considerations of personal safety to outweigh his devotion
to an ideal.

"And now," said Cleggett, turning to Lady Agatha, who had hearkened to
his orders to George with a bright smile of approval, "we will dine,
and I will hear the rest of your story, which was so rudely
interrupted. It is possible that together we may be able to find some
solution of your problem."

"Dine!" exclaimed Lady Agatha, eagerly. "Yes, let us dine! It may
sound incredible to you, Mr. Cleggett, that the daughter of an English
peer and the widow of a baronet should confess that, except for your
tea, she has scarcely eaten for twenty-four hours--but it is so!"

Then she said, sadly, with a sign and sidelong glance at the box of
Reginald Maltravers which stood near the cabin companionway dripping
coldly: "Until now, Mr. Cleggett--until your aid had given me fresh
hope and strength--I had, indeed, very little appetite."

Cleggett followed her gaze, and it must be admitted that he himself
experienced a momentary sense of depression at the sight of the box of
Reginald Maltravers. It looked so damp, it looked so chill, it looked
so starkly and patiently and malevolently watchful of himself and Lady
Agatha. In a flash his lively fancy furnished him with a pi