t, he did it very
cleverly: he started to say something once or twice, changed his mind
confusedly, and suddenly, putting the shuffleboard stick under his
arm, began to imitate a guitar.

Miss Dorn applauded. "Splendid! You should play in the orchestra."

"Thank you." He smiled gratefully. "Listen; this is a bassoon. I have
to make a funny face when I do it."

Miss Dorn clapped her hands. "Great!" she cried. "Oh, simply great!"

"A flute," introduced Mr. Masterson.

Miss Marcia chortled. "That's a funnier face than the last," she said.

"A cello."

"Good!"

"A violin," he announced.

"Not so good"; she smiled in appreciative criticism.

"I'll have to practise up on it. But listen to this. I'm all right on
the cornet."

It did sound like a cornet, even to the tremolo and the tonguing.
People were looking up from their steamer-chairs now, and one or two
pedestrians had gathered about; Mr. Masterson had an appreciative
audience. Encouraged, he essayed another effort. He wrinkled his
comical face and pursed up his lips, starting three or four times, and
shaking his head at his failures. The others were watching him much as
they would a catherine-wheel that refused to ignite. At last he
brought forth a puny little sound.

"I really don't know," observed the amateur entertainer blandly, "what
that is."

Every one burst into roars, and it was at this moment that the Admiral
hove in sight round the corner of the deck-house. When Miss Dorn
looked up, Mr. Masterson was gone; the crowd, still laughing, was
dwindling; and there stood her uncle. He had on what she termed his
"quarter-deck expression." Before he could speak she had taken him by
the arm.

[Illustration: "HE COULD HEAR THE CRASH, SEE THE GREAT BOW SINKING"]

"Where have you been, Nuncky dear?" she inquired most sweetly.

"Looking for you, my dear Marcia."

"For two whole days?"

"Well--er--yesterday I--er--thought you'd better be left alone,
and--er--where did you meet that young man?"

"Oh, Bertha Sands introduced him--he's a dear! You came just a minute
too late." Miss Dorn laughed and squeezed her uncle's arm. "He's _so_
amusing. You'd _love_ to meet him!"

"That silly ass!" grunted Admiral Paulding. "Not much. He makes my toe
itch! I've got a good name for him--'the smoke-room pest.' He's always
doing card tricks under your unwilling nose, pretending to sit on
somebody's hat, upsetting the dominos! If he can get a laugh out of a
waiter,