me, when you got up your anchor."

"What do you suppose I cared whether I waked you or not, you
blunderhead. Now stand by here till we have moored the Florina. Let go
your anchor."

"I can keep her where she is as long as there is a breeze. Moor your
boat, and I am all ready for Chicago."

Mr. Whippleton pulled back to his yacht, and sailed her a short
distance inside of the point, where I heard the splash of the anchor.
His explanation of his movement was reasonable enough, and if I had
been disposed to be satisfied with anything he said or did which
involved his absence in the body from me, I might have been contented
with it. The more determined he was in charging me with blunders, the
better I was satisfied that my course was right; and I preferred to let
the future rather than the present justify my conduct.

"What's the matter, Philip?" asked Marian, opening the slide of the
cabin.

"Nothing; it is all right now."

"But I heard some hard words just now," she persisted.

"Mr. Whippleton thinks I have made another blunder--that's all."

I told her what had occurred, and that, as there was a little breeze,
we should probably start for Chicago in a short time. I advised her to
return to her berth, and not be disturbed by anything she heard. She
acknowledged that she had slept very well till the noise awoke her, and
she was willing to repeat the experiment. She retired, closed and
fastened the slide behind her. In about half an hour Mr. Whippleton and
Peter came on board.

"Gorrificious!" exclaimed the cook. "Are you going to sea without us,
and carry off all the whiskey?"

I thought, from the movements of the negro, he was carrying off
considerable of it; and the fumes of Mr. Whippleton's breath indicated
that he had not entirely neglected the bottle. But it did not have a
happy effect upon him, as it sometimes does, for he was decidedly ugly.
I believe that liquor intensifies whatever emotions may prevail in the
mind of the toper while under its influence. Joy is more joyous, grief
is more grievous, under its sway; and a man who is ugly when sober is
ten times worse when drunk. A man who has an ugly fit is the uglier for
the rum he has drunk.

Mr. Whippleton had an ugly fit upon him when he came on board of the
Marian. He was probably disappointed and vexed at my conduct, and
having drank several glasses of whiskey, he was really so ugly as to
make himself very uncomfortable. He filled away the yacht, a