in his reserved, controlled way, when he regretted
the plague of vermin I had encountered in my rooms. It seems he has a
keen sense of hospitality, and that he is my host on the _Elsinore_, and
that, although he is oblivious of the existence of the crew, he is not
oblivious of my comfort. By his few expressions of regret it appears
that he cannot forgive himself for his careless acceptance of the
erroneous diagnosis of my affliction. Yes; Captain West is a real human
man. Is he not the father of the slender-faced, strapping-bodied Miss
West?

"Thank goodness that's settled," was Miss West's exclamation this
morning, when we met on the poop and after I had told her how gloriously
I had slept.

And then, that nightmare episode dismissed because, forsooth, for all
practical purposes--it was settled, she next said:

"Come on and see the chickens."

And I accompanied her along the spidery bridge to the top of the 'midship-
house, to look at the one rooster and the four dozen fat hens in the
ship's chicken-coop.

As I accompanied her, my eyes dwelling pleasurably on that vital gait of
hers as she preceded me, I could not help reflecting that, coming down on
the tug from Baltimore, she had promised not to bother me nor require to
be entertained.

_Come and see the chickens_!--Oh, the sheer female possessiveness of that
simple invitation! For effrontery of possessiveness is there anything
that can exceed the nest-making, planet-populating, female, human
woman?--_Come and see the chickens_! Oh, well, the sailors for'ard may
be hard-bitten, but I can promise Miss West that here, aft, is one male
passenger, unmarried and never married, who is an equally hard-bitten
adventurer on the sea of matrimony. When I go over the census I remember
at least several women, superior to Miss West, who trilled their song of
sex and failed to shipwreck me.

As I read over what I have written I notice how the terminology of the
sea has stolen into my mental processes. Involuntarily I think in terms
of the sea. Another thing I notice is my excessive use of superlatives.
But then, everything on board the _Elsinore_ is superlative. I find
myself continually combing my vocabulary in quest of just and adequate
words. Yet am I aware of failure. For example, all the words of all the
dictionaries would fail to approximate the exceeding terribleness of
Mulligan Jacobs.

But to return to the chickens. Despite every precaution, it was e