le complacency, induces fermentation.

"Oh, there you are, Mr. Marlowe!"

"Oh, _there_ you are," said Bream Mortimer with a slightly different
inflection.

"I thought I'd like a breath of fresh air before lunch," said Sam.

"Oh, Bream!" said the girl.

"Hello?"

"Do be a darling and take this great heavy coat of mine down to my
state-room, will you? I had no idea it was so warm."

"I'll carry it," said Bream.

"Nonsense! I wouldn't dream of burdening you with it. Trot along and put
it on the berth. It doesn't matter about folding it up."

"All right," said Bream moodily.

He trotted along. There are moments when a man feels that all he needs
in order to be a delivery wagon is a horse and a driver. Bream Mortimer
was experiencing such a moment.

"He had better chirrup to the dog while he's there, don't you think?"
suggested Sam. He felt that a resolute man with legs as long as Bream's
might well deposit a cloak on a berth and be back under the half-minute.

"Oh yes! Bream!"

"Hello?"

"While you're down there, just chirrup a little more to poor Pinky. He
does appreciate it so!"

Bream disappeared. It is not always easy to interpret emotion from a
glance at a man's back; but Bream's back looked like that of a man to
whom the thought has occurred that, given a couple of fiddles and a
piano, he would have made a good hired orchestra.

"How is your dear little dog, by the way?" inquired Sam solicitously, as
he fell into step by her side.

"Much better now, thanks. I've made friends with a girl on board--did
you ever hear her name--Jane Hubbard--she's a rather well-known big-game
hunter, and she fixed up some sort of a mixture for Pinky which did him
a world of good. I don't know what was in it except Worcester Sauce, but
she said she always gave it to her mules in Africa when they had the
botts ... it's very nice of you to speak so affectionately of poor Pinky
when he bit you."

"Animal spirits!" said Sam tolerantly. "Pure animal spirits. I like to
see them. But, of course, I love all dogs."

"Oh, do you? So do I!"

"I only wish they didn't fight so much. I'm always stopping dog-fights."

"I do admire a man who knows what to do at a dog-fight. I'm afraid I'm
rather helpless myself. There never seems anything to catch hold of."
She looked down. "Have you been reading? What is the book?"

"The book? Oh, this. It's a volume of Tennyson."

"Are you fond of Tennyson?"

"I worship him," said Sam rev