t's the real article right over our heads, I
suppose."

"Yes. That's the 'Diamond Horseshoe.'"

"All proper things there, hey?"

"Why--er--yes, I suppose so. What makes you ask?"

"Nothing much. I was thinking 'twas better Abbie wa'n't along on this
cruise. She'd probably want to put an 'im' in front of that 'proper.'
I envy those women, Jim; _they_ didn't have to stop to hunt up collar
buttons, did they."

He was silent during the first act of the opera. When the curtain fell
his companion asked how he liked it.

"Good singin'," he replied; "best I ever heard. Do you understand what
they say?"

"No. But I'm familiar with the story of Aida, of course. It's a favorite
of mine. And the words don't really matter."

"I suppose not. It's the way they say it. I had an Irishman workin'
round my barn once, and Tim Bailey drove down from Bayport to see me. I
was out and Tim and the Irishman run afoul of each other. Tim stuttered
so that he made a noise when he talked like one of these gasoline
bicycles goin' by. He watched Mike sweepin' out the horse stall and he
says, 'You're a pup--pup ... I say you're a pup--.' He didn't get any
further 'cause Mike went for him with the broom. Turned out later that
he was tryin' to compliment that Irishman by sayin' he was a particular
sort of feller. These folks on the stage might be sayin' most anythin',
and I wouldn't know it. But I sha'n't knock 'em down, for I like the
way it's said. When the Almighty give us music he more than made up for
makin' us subject to toothache, didn't he."

Pearson bought a copy of the libretto, and the captain followed the
performance of the next two acts with interest.

"Say, Jim," he whispered, with a broad grin, "it's a good thing this
opera idea ain't carried into real life. If you had to sing every word
you said 'twould be sort of distressin', 'specially if you was in a
hurry. A fust-rate solo when you was orderin' the crew to shorten sail
would be a high old brimstone anthem, I'll bet you. And think of the
dinner table at our boardin' house! Mrs. Van and C. Dickens both goin'
at once, and Marm Hepton serenadin' the waiter girl! Ho! ho! A cat fight
wouldn't be a circumstance."

Between the third and the fourth acts the pair went out into the foyer,
where, ascending to the next floor, they made the round of the long
curve behind the boxes, Pearson pointing out to his friend the names of
the box lessees on the brass plates.

"There!" he obse