a good one after all and A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire,
was richer by some seven hundred dollars, even after the expenses of
treating the "smoke-room" and feeing the smoke-room steward had been
deducted. I did not visit the smoke-room to share in the treat. I feared
I might be expected to furnish more professional information. But that
evening a bottle of vintage champagne was produced by our obsequious
table steward. "With Mr. 'Eathcroft's compliments, sir, thank you, sir,"
announced the latter.

Hephzibah looked at the gilt-topped bottle.

"WHAT in the world will we do with it, Hosy?" she demanded.

"Why, drink it, I suppose," I answered. "It is the only thing we can do.
We can't send it back."

"But you can't drink the whole of it, and I'm sure I sha'n't start in to
be a drunkard at my age. I'll take the least little bit of a drop, just
to see what it tastes like. I've read about champagne, just as I've read
about lords and ladies, all my life, but I never expected to see either
of 'em. Well there!" after a very small sip from the glass, "there's
another pet idea gone to smash. A lord looks like Ase Tidditt, and
champagne tastes like vinegar and soda. Tut! tut! tut! if I had to drink
that sour stuff all my life I'd probably look like Asaph, too. No wonder
that Erkskine man is such a shriveled-up thing."

I glanced toward the captain's table. Mr. Heathcroft raised his glass.
I bowed and raised mine. The group at that table, the captain included,
were looking in my direction. I judged that my smoke-room acquaintance
had told them of my wonderful "tip." I imagined I could see the
sarcastic smile upon the captain's face. I did not care for that kind of
celebrity.

But the affair had one quite unexpected result. The next forenoon as
Hephzibah and I were reclining in our deck-chairs the captain himself,
florid-faced, gray-bearded, gold-laced and grand, halted before us.

"I believe your name is Knowles, sir," he said, raising his cap.

"It is," I replied. I wondered what in the world was coming next. Was he
going to take me to task for talking with his second officer?

"Your home is in Bayport, Massachusetts, I see by the passenger list,"
he went on. "Is that Bayport on Cape Cod, may I ask?"

"Yes," I replied, more puzzled than ever.

"I once knew a Knowles from your town, sir. He was a seafaring man
like myself. His name was Philander Knowles, and when I knew him he was
commander of the bark 'Ranger.'"

"H