k about among people without causing a crowd to collect. Hicks,
too, at Owen's suggestion, had adopted quieter attire.

Just as the gangplank was about to be pulled in the deckhands waited to
permit a very feeble and bent old man to hobble aboard. He had long,
white hair, and his face was mostly gray whiskers, except a pair of
dark spectacles. A porter followed him bearing two brand new
suitcases.

The adventurous four were soon comfortably perched in steamer chairs
watching New York harbor slip by them. They had barely reached the
Statue of Liberty when the "pirate" launched forth on one of his
Munchausen-like tales of the sea.

Highly colored, picturesque, untrue and absurd as a stained glass
window, nevertheless these yams took on a semblance of reality from the
character of the narrator himself. In all his stories the "pirate" was
the hero. Nobody noticed that a steward had placed a fifth steamer
chair beside the sailor until that worthy reached one of the main
climaxes of his narrative. At that point he felt a hand on his
shoulder and looked around into the whiskers and black spectacles of
the old passenger. The cackling voice remarked:

"It's a lie. It's a lie. It's a lie."

Every one was astonished, but even the "pirate" had a trace of respect
for such great age, and said nothing in reply. After a while he
continued, only to be interrupted by the same words.

This was too much to endure, and though the if "pirate" held his
tongue they rebuked the old dotard by walking away and leaning over the
rail. The conversation wandered to the subject of sharks, and Pauline
asked if they were as stupid as they looked.

"Don't you believe it," the "pirate" assured her. "Them sharks look
stupid just to fool you. Why, I remember a time not so long ago down
in Choco Bay, on the coast of Colombia, there was an old devil who used
to sneak up alongside sailin' vessels in a fog. He carried in his
mouth the big iron shank of an anchor he'd picked up from the wreck."

"What did he do that for?" asked Hicks.

"So the iron would deflect the compass and make them run the ship onto
the Kelp Ledges, off the Pinudas, Islands. If a ship went down he
stood a good chance of eating one or two o' the passengers. But I
don't mind sharks. If you want to know what really annoys me, it's
them killer whales in the Antarctic that come a crowdin' and buttin' up
against ye."

"It's an internal, monumental, epoch-making lie