"You will have splendid weather," he had declared. "It will be fine all the way over." When the steamer passed out of the breakwater into the English Channel she breasted a northeaster that lasted all the way to the Banks. Even Hymie Salzman went under, and Leon Sammet walked the swaying decks alone. Twice a day he poked his head into the stateroom occupied by Moe Griesman and Abe Potash, for Abe had thrown economy to the winds and had gone halves with Moe in the largest outside room on board. "Boys," Leon would ask, "ain't you going to get up? The air is fine on deck." Had he but known it, Moe Griesman developed day by day, with growing intensity, that violent hatred for Leon that the hopelessly seasick feel toward good sailors; while toward Abe, who groaned unceasingly in the upper berth, Moe Griesman evinced the affectionate interest that the poor sailor evinces in any one who suffers more keenly than himself. At length Nantucket lightship was passed, and as the sea grew calmer two white-faced invalids, that on close scrutiny might have been recognized by their oldest friends to be Moe and Abe, tottered up the companionway and sank exhausted into the nearest deckchairs. "Well, Moe," Leon cried, as he bustled toward them smoking a large cigar and clad in a suit of immaculate white flannels, "so you're up again?" The silence with which Moe received this remark ought to have warned Leon, but he plunged headlong to his fate. "We are now only twenty hours from New York," he said, "and suppose I go downstairs and bring you up some of them styles which I got in Paris." "You shouldn't trouble yourself," Moe said shortly. "Why not?" Leon inquired. "Because, for all I care," Moe replied viciously, "you could fire 'em overboard. I would _oser_ buy from you a button." "What's the matter?" Leon cried. "You know what's the matter," Moe continued. "You come every day into my stateroom and mock me yet because I am sick." "I mock you!" Leon exclaimed. "That's what I said," Moe continued; "and if you wouldn't take that cigar away from here I'll break your neck when I get on shore again." Leon backed away hurriedly and Moe turned to Abe. "Am I right or wrong?" he said. Abe nodded. He was incapable of audible speech, but hour by hour he grew stronger until at dinner-time he was able to partake of some soup and roast beef, and even to listen with a wan smile to Moe's caustic appraisement of Leon Sammet's character. Finally, after a good night's rest, Moe and Abe awoke to find the engine stilled at Quarantine. They were saved the necessity of packing their trunks for the cogent reason that they had been physically unable to open them, let alone unpack them. Hence they repaired at once to breakfast. Leon was already seated at table, and he hastily cancelled an order for Yarmouth bloater and asked instead for a less fragrant dish. "Good morning, Moe," he said pleasantly.