s fished out from somewhere, and shaken and pulled
this way and that.

It consisted of a skirt of a kind, a waistbelt, two shoulder straps, and
a big jet butterfly poised just where, for the sake of decency, it was
necessary, and as a toilette allied with the boat deck would doubtless
prove most attractive to the man who was not in search of a wife.

The man it was intended to subjugate, meanwhile, was lying full length on
his deck chair intent upon a letter, oblivious of the noise of the
harbour and the racket necessary to the boat's imminent departure.

Jan Cuxson had read the letter five times and was just starting on it for
the sixth, subconsciously congratulating himself on his foresight, or
horse sense, which you will.

His cabin was like nothing on earth, and in it, upon the outer edge of a
dead maelstrom of his entire wardrobe, stood John Smith, cabin steward.

John Smith is not his name, but who does not know and bless him if they
have ever travelled on this particular boat.

He has a big, very black mole on the extreme tip of his nose, and is the
cheeriest, most optimistic soul on the ocean wave, yea! even those
out-size waves in the Bay at its worst.

After the first lightning perusal of the God-sped letter, Jan Cuxson had
given divers urgent orders for as much as possible of his gear in the
hold to be thrown ashore.

Imagine it, and the boat almost due to sail!

He had then rushed to his cabin and initiated the maelstrom, until common
sense had smitten him between the love-fogged eyes of his desire;
whereupon he had heaved a huge sigh of utter contentment, propped himself
against the door for the second perusal, rung the bell, countermanded all
he had ordered, and left John Smith to it.

He had pulled the letter out of its envelope, growled at a vendor of
Egyptian wares, and turned with a whole-hearted smile at the sound of a
small voice.

"Is 'oo velly unhappy, Mr. Bear?"

The man did not know that he had become the object of that loathsome
habit of nicknaming all and sundry which a certain clique on every boat
consider so smart.

"I'm the happiest man on earth--water, I mean, little one. Yes! come
along up--and why Mr. Bear?"

Followed a scramble, a gurgle, and arranging of infinitesimal frills.

"Mummie calls 'oo Mr. Grizzly Bear because you're cwoss! Mrs.
Tom--Tom--li'son says Mummie's cwoss 'cos 'oo wouldn't take the buns she
wanted 'oo too. Why didn't 'oo take the buns--buns nice,