b the floor,' then
will I scrub the floor. Should he say, 'Signor, steer the ship,' then
will I do my best to steer the ship. I who have never steered a ship. So
let me be your example, my friend."

"That's fine," said his neighbour, as they moved off together. "But
supposing he asks you to sing occasionally to amuse the rest of
us,--what then?"

"Amuse?" cried the Signor. "Amuse?"

"Well, then, entertain."

The great Joseppi pursed his lips. His brows grew dark with trouble.

"Ah, but that would be violating my contract," he said. "My contract
specifically states that under no circumstances may I--" Then suddenly,
as if renouncing a sacred principle, his brow cleared, and he cried out:
"Damn the contract! Joseppi's voice is his own. Joseppi will do as he
pleases with it. Let him but make the request, my friend,--and Joseppi
will sing till he drops from exhaustion." Lowering his voice to a
confidential undertone, he went on: "And that, my friend, is more than
you will find Careni-Amori willing to do. There is one cold-blooded,
grasping woman for you. Money! She thinks of nothing but money. And
flattery! Ah, how she thrives on flattery. That woman, my friend,
beautiful as she is, has no more heart than a--"

"Excuse me, please," broke in his listener, in English. "I've got to
beat it."

He had caught sight of a slim young figure at the head of the stairs,--a
girl in a rumpled blue serge tailor-suit and a tan-coloured sport hat
pulled well down over her dark hair. He made his way through the crowd
and caught her up as she passed out on the deck.

"I've been terribly worried about you," he began without other greeting,
planting himself in front of her. "I thought maybe you might have--but,
thank the good Lord, you weren't."

She looked momentarily bewildered. Then she recognized him and held out
her hand. Her face was serious, unsmiling, her voice low and tired.

"Isn't it dreadful, Mr. Percival? What a terrible experience it has
been. Oh--and I am glad you came through safely, too. But--" as her eyes
narrowed anxiously,-"you were hurt. Your hands?"

"I can't very well shake hands with you, Miss Clinton," said he.
"Scorched a little, that's all. You'd think it was serious, the way
they're bandaged. One of the sailors fixed them up for me last night. I
can't tell you how glad I am that you are all right. And your aunt? Is
she--" He paused.

"Auntie is all right, Mr. Percival. She's in bed. Shock and exposure.