d old fogies
who think women ought to be kept in a menagerie, behind bars, to be
inspected on Saturday afternoons. Now, I appeal to you if it wouldn't be
disastrous to fall in love with a man of such ideas. And just to let you
know what a literal old law-brief he is, when I said he had had a hat-pin
sticking in him for several weeks, he nearly jumped overboard, and began
to feel himself all over. Did you know that he actually believed you
were doing your best to get married to the Celebrity?" (Here she dodged
Miss Thorn again.) "Oh, yes, he confided in me. He used to worry himself
ill over that. I'll tell you what he said to me only--"

But fortunately at this juncture Miss Trevor was captured again, and Miss
Thorn put her hand over her mouth. Heaven only knows what she would have
said!

The two boats did not arrive until nearly four o'clock, owing to some
trouble to the tug's propeller. Not knowing what excuse my client might
have given for leaving some of his party ashore, I thought it best to go
out to meet them. Seated on the cabin roof of the Maria I beheld Mr.
Cooke and McCann in conversation, each with a black cigar too big for
him.

"Hello, Crocker, old man," shouted my client, "did you think I was never
coming back? I've had lots of sport out of this hayseed captain" (and he
poked that official playfully), "but I didn't get any grub. So we'll
have to go to Far Harbor."

I caught the hint. Mr. Cooke had given out that he had started for
Saville to restock the larder.

"No," he continued, "Brass Buttons didn't let me get to Saville. You
see, when he got back to town last night they told him he had been
buncoed out of the biggest thing for years, and they got it into his head
that I was child enough to run a ferry for criminals. They told him he
wasn't the sleuth he thought he was, so he came back. They'll have the
laugh on him now, for sure."

McCann listened with admirable good-nature, gravely pulling at his cigar,
and eyeing Mr. Cooke with a friendly air of admiration.

"Mr. Crocker," he said, with melancholy humor, "it's leery I am with the
whole shooting-match. Mr. Cooke here is a gentleman, every inch of him,
and so be you, Mr. Crocker. But I'm just after taking a look at the hole
in the bottom of the boat. 'Ye have yer bunks in queer places, Mr.
Cooke,' says I. It's not for me to be doubting a gentleman's word, sir,
but I'm thinking me man is over the hills and far away, and that's true
for ye."