ellow what in thunder ails you,
instead of prowling round among the tombs like a jolly old vampire?"

"Pepper," I replied, solemnly, "don't ask me. All is not well
here"--touching my breast mysteriously. If I had touched my head instead,
I should have been nearer the mark.

Pepper stared at me.

"Earthly happiness," I continued, "is a delusion and a snare. You will
never be happy, Pepper, until you are a cherub."

Pepper, by the by, would have made an excellent cherub, he was so
chubby. Having delivered myself of these gloomy remarks, I arose
languidly from the grass and moved away, leaving Pepper staring after
me in mute astonishment. I was Hamlet and Werter and the late Lord Byron
all in one.

You will ask what my purpose was in cultivating this factitious
despondency. None whatever. Blighted beings never have any purpose in
life excepting to be as blighted as possible.

Of course my present line of business could not long escape the eye of
Captain Nutter. I don't know if the Captain suspected my attachment for
Miss Glentworth. He never alluded to it; but he watched me. Miss Abigail
watched me, Kitty Collins watched me, and Sailor Ben watched me.

"I can't make out his signals," I overheard the Admiral remark to my
grandfather one day. "I hope he ain't got no kind of sickness aboard."

There was something singularly agreeable in being an object of so great
interest. Sometimes I had all I could do to preserve my dejected aspect,
it was so pleasant to be miserable. I incline to the opinion that
people who are melancholy without any particular reason, such as poets,
artists, and young musicians with long hair, have rather an enviable
time of it. In a quiet way I never enjoyed myself better in my life than
when I was a Blighted Being.

Chapter Twenty--I Prove Myself To Be the Grandson of My Grandfather

It was not possible for a boy of my temperament to be a blighted being
longer than three consecutive weeks.

I was gradually emerging from my self-imposed cloud when events took
place that greatly assisted in restoring me to a more natural frame of
mind. I awoke from an imaginary trouble to face a real one.

I suppose you don't know what a financial crisis is? I will give you an
illustration.

You are deeply in debt--say to the amount of a quarter of a dollar--to the
little knicknack shop round the corner, where they sell picture-papers,
spruce-gum, needles, and Malaga raisins. A boy owes you a quart