shade, the sharp breezes stole over gentle
rollers and covered each sad-coloured bulge with fleeting ripples. That
blessed breeze, so pure, so crisp, so potently shot through with magic
savours of iodine and ozone, exhilarates the spirits until the most
staid of men break at times into schoolboy fun. Do you imagine that
religious people are dull, or dowie, as the Scotch say? Not a bit of it.
They are the most cheerful and wholesome of mortals, and I only wish my
own companions all my life had been as genial and merry. How often and
often have I been in companies where men had been feeding--we won't say
"dining," because that implies something delicate and rational. The
swilling began, and soon the laughter of certain people sounded like the
crackling of thorns under a pot, and we were all jolly--so jolly. The
table was an arena surrounded by flushed persons with codfishy eyes, and
all the diners congratulated themselves on being the most jovial fellows
under the moon. But what about next morning? At that time your
thoroughly jovial fellow who despises saintly milksops is usually a
dull, morose, objectionable person who should be put in a field by
himself. Give me the man who is in a calmly genial mood at six in the
morning.

That was the case with all our saintly milksops on board the yacht. At
six Blair and Tom were astir; soon afterwards came the ladies and the
other men, and the company chatted harmlessly until the merry breakfast
hour was over; their palates were pure; their thoughts were gentle,
and, although a Cape buffalo may be counted as rather an unobtrusive
vocalist in comparison with Mr. Lennard, yet, on the whole, the
conversation was profitable, and generally refined. Tom's roars perhaps
gave soft emphasis to the quieter talkers.

In the middle of the bright, sharp morning the whole of our passengers
gathered in a clump aft, and desultory chat went on. Said Blair, "I
notice that the professor's been rather reticent since we mariners
rescued him."

"I am not quite a hero, and that last night on the _Haughty Belle_ isn't
the kind of thing that makes a man talkative. Then that poor silly soul
down below gave me a good deal to think about. He must have suffered
enough to make the rack seem gentle, and yet the good blockhead only
thought of telling us to leave him alone in case the vessel went. Did
you ever know, Miss Dearsley, of a man doing such a thing before? And
you see he hasn't said anything since he