erently.

"Those----" he glanced at his cuff--"those 'Idylls of the King!' I do
not like to think what an ocean voyage would be if I had not my Tennyson
with me."

"We must read him together. He is my favourite poet!"

"We will! There is something about Tennyson...."

"Yes, isn't there! I've felt that myself so often."

"Some poets are whales at epics and all that sort of thing, while others
call it a day when they've written something that runs to a couple of
verses, but where Tennyson had the bulge was that his long game was just
as good as his short. He was great off the tee and a marvel with his
chip-shots."

"That sounds as though you play golf."

"When I am not reading Tennyson, you can generally find me out on the
links. Do you play?"

"I love it. How extraordinary that we should have so much in common. You
seem to like all the things I like. We really ought to be great
friends."

He was pausing to select the best of three replies when the lunch bugle
sounded.

"Oh dear!" she cried. "I must rush. But we shall see one another again
up here afterwards?"

"We will," said Sam.

"We'll sit and read Tennyson."

"Fine! Er--you and I and Mortimer?"

"Oh no, Bream is going to sit down below and look after poor Pinky."

"Does he--does he know he is?"

"Not yet," said Billie. "I'm going to tell him at lunch."

CHAPTER IV

SAM CLICKS

Sec. 1

It was the fourth morning of the voyage. Of course, when this story is
done in the movies they won't be satisfied with a bald statement like
that; they will have a Spoken Title or a Cut-Back Sub-Caption or
whatever they call the thing in the low dens where motion-picture
scenario-lizards do their dark work, which will run:--

AND SO, CALM AND GOLDEN, THE DAYS WENT BY, EACH FRAUGHT WITH HOPE
AND YOUTH AND SWEETNESS, LINKING TWO YOUNG HEARTS IN SILKEN FETTERS
FORGED BY THE LAUGHING LOVE-GOD.

and the males in the audience will shift their chewing gum to the other
cheek and take a firmer grip of their companion's hands and the man at
the piano will play "Everybody wants a key to my cellar," or something
equally appropriate, very soulfully and slowly, with a wistful eye on
the half-smoked cigarette which he has parked on the lowest octave and
intends finishing as soon as the picture is over. But I prefer the plain
frank statement that it was the fourth day of the voyage. That is my
story and I mean to stick to it.

Samuel Marlowe,