ave every other day now," he said hastily, to cover his
confusion.

"Have a coffin nail?" said Snorky, feeling that a bold stroke was
necessary to restore the balance.

"Dyin' for one," said Skippy, who disliked the practice cordially. He
selected a cigarette, tapped it on his hand and rolled the rim on the
tip of his tongue. "Not bad."

"Nice bouquet, eh?" said Snorky, who had listened in.

"What? You betcha! What's the monogram?"

"Uncle Ben. I swiped them," said Snorky, who was returning from a family
visit. "Suppose we give the old tub the once over and see if there's
anything worth looking at on board."

Skippy allowed the cigarette to hang pendant from his lower lip, tilted
his Panama with the purple and white band, sank his hands in his pockets
and imitated carefully the dead game sporting slouch of his companion as
they proceeded on their critical inspection of the feminine offering on
the decks.

"Rum bunch," said Snorky, who was putting it on for Skippy. "Little girl
over there got nice eyes."

"Piano legs."

"What?"

"Piano legs. Big as a porpoise in five years," said Skippy, putting it
on for Snorky.

"I daresay," said Snorky, who continued his efforts to impress his chum
by staring down a large buxom lady who happened to glance their way.
"Rather good-looking, the old fighting brunette over there."

"Seemed interested in you."

"Yes, rather," said Snorky, turning for a fatuous backward glance.

"What's this?" said Skippy, suddenly interested.

Ahead by the rail two young girls were watching curiously the vanishing
outlines of the harbor.

"That's class," said Snorky instantly.

"You betcha!" said Skippy, noting the large leghorn hats dripping with
rosebuds, the trim ruffled organdie dresses and the twin parasols, pink
and mauve. The young ladies looked up curiously at their swaggering
approach and then away. Skippy in his assiduous pursuit of fiction of
the romantic tinge had often read of "velvety" eyes and pondered
incredulously. For the first time in his life, suddenly, in the hazards
of a crowded steamer, a young girl of irreproachable manners had looked
at him and the eyes were undeniably "velvety." It troubled him. Not that
he was susceptible to such a point, but it stirred memories of ancient
readings into the night on soft window seats, or under green trees in
the troubling warmth of spring days.

"The blonde for mine," said Snorky pompously.

"I didn't see her," said Skipp