him and the cigar with apparent
amusement. He smiled good naturedly.

"Been runnin' her too low," he observed. "Have to get up steam if I want
to be in at the finish."

This nautical remark was received with blank stares. "Monty" turned his
shoulder toward the speaker. "Tacks" did not even turn; he continued
to stare. The arrival of the cocktails was the next happening of
importance.

"I say, Tacks," observed Monty, leaning back in his chair and sipping
his Martini, "how are you getting on? Made up your mind what to do?"

"No," shortly.

"Going to fight, are you?"

"No use. The confounded lawyers say I wouldn't have a show."

"Humph! Low-down trick of the old woman's, wasn't it, giving you the
shake that way? Everybody thought you were her pet weakness. We used to
envy your soft snap. Did you get the go-by altogether?"

"Pretty near. Got a little something, but it was precious little."

"Can you pull through on it?"

"'Twill be a devilish hard pull."

"Too bad, old man. But cheer up! You'll come out on top. Have another
one of these things?"

"All right."

More Martinis were ordered. "Monty" and his friend lit fresh cigarettes.
The former asked another question.

"Who are the lucky winners?" he inquired. "Some country cousins or
other, I know that; but who are they?"

"Oh, I don't know. Yes, I know; but what difference does it make?"

"Isn't there a girl somewhere in the crowd?"

"Yes, but--" He broke off. Captain Dan was regarding him intently.

"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Uncle?"
drawled "Tacks," with bland sarcasm.

Daniel was taken aback.

"Why," he stammered, "I--I don't know's there is."

"Shall I speak a little louder? Possibly that might help. Delighted to
oblige, I'm sure."

This was plain enough, certainly. The captain colored. His confusion
increased.

"I--I hope you don't think I was listenin' to you and your friend's
talk," he protested hastily. "I wasn't. Why, if--if you two would like
this table to yourself you can have it just as well as not. I can go
somewhere else. You see, I was thinkin'--when you spoke to me--I was
thinkin' there was somethin' familiar about your face. Seemed as if I'd
seen you somewhere before, that's all; and--"

The young gentleman in brown interrupted him. "You're mistaken," he
said, "I was never there." Then, turning to his friend, he added, with
an elaborate "Josh Whitcomb" accent: "Monty, 'taters must be lookin' up.