e firmly fixed on a floor
that does not heave and wobble under me."

"Nonsense! The boat's as steady as a rock now. The sea's like a
mill-pond."

"Nevertheless, thanking you for your suggestion, no!"

"Oh, well, then I shall have to get on as best I can with that fellow
Mortimer. We've been rehearsing all the afternoon, and he seems to have
the hang of the thing. But he won't be really right. He has no pep, no
vim. Still, if you won't ... well, I think I'll be getting along to his
state-room. I told him I would look in for a last rehearsal."

The door closed behind Sam, and Eustace Hignett, lying on his back, gave
himself up to melancholy meditation. He was deeply disturbed by his
cousin's sad story. He knew what it meant being engaged to Wilhelmina
Bennett. It was like being taken aloft in a balloon and dropped with a
thud on the rocks.

His reflections were broken by the abrupt opening of the door. Sam
rushed in. Eustace peered anxiously out of his berth. There was too
much burnt cork on his cousin's face to allow of any real registering of
emotion, but he could tell from his manner that all was not well.

"What's the matter?"

Sam sank down on the lounge.

"The bounder has quit!"

"The bounder? What bounder?"

"There is only one! Bream Mortimer, curse him! There may be others whom
thoughtless critics rank as bounders, but he is the only man really
deserving of the title. He refuses to appear! He has walked out on the
act! He has left me flat! I went into his state-room just now, as
arranged, and the man was lying on his bunk, groaning."

"I thought you said the sea was like a mill-pond."

"It wasn't that! He's perfectly fit. But it seems that the silly ass
took it into his head to propose to Billie just before
dinner--apparently he's loved her for years in a silent, self-effacing
way--and of course she told him that she was engaged to me, and the
thing upset him to such an extent that he says the idea of sitting down
at a piano and helping me give an imitation of Frank Tinney revolts him.
He says he intends to spend the evening in bed, reading Schopenhauer I
hope it chokes him!"

"But this is splendid! This lets you out."

"What do you mean? Lets me out?"

"Why, now you won't be able to appear. Oh, you will be thankful for this
in years to come."

"Won't I appear! Won't I dashed well appear! Do you think I'm going to
disappoint that dear girl when she is relying on me? I would rather
die."

"B