“And the stoop-shouldered man is the father.” It was Mrs. Locke, Hildegarde’s room-mate, who said the words, her eyes on Curlyhead. That person, in a towering rage, stood in a group of laughing men. They were plaguing him just to hear him swear. Mrs. Locke was still very white, her arm in a sling. But what a nice face she had! “_Do_ sit here,” Hildegarde urged, and finally prevailed. The new-comer said very little. Others stopped in passing and talked to Hildegarde. Mrs. Locke sat and looked at the sea. Before one o’clock a stiff breeze sprang up. It cleared the deck as if the people had been so many mosquitoes, for the _Los Angeles_ began to roll. “I am a fair sailor,” said Mrs. Locke. “I shan’t mind.” “Oh, this is where you are!” some one was saying familiarly just behind them, Hildegarde thought to Mrs. Locke. But on looking round she met the purser’s fascinating smile. Mrs. Locke got up instantly, murmuring something about feeling the need of a walk. The purser dropped comfortably into the vacant chair. “Well, my dear, and how do you find yourself this morning?” As Miss Mar did not instantly respond, “Goin’ to be a good sailor?” he said, with a great display of teeth. Hildegarde looked at him and decided he was a little idiotic, but that she must have dreamed the “dear.” She answered him upon that supposition. Still he talked rather queerly, she thought, till the first horn sounded for dinner. “I’ve got a place for you at my table,” he said, getting up. “Oh, thank you, but I have a seat already.” “That don’t matter, it won’t go beggin’. I’m lookin’ out for you all right,” he assured her, as though he had heard himself accused of neglect. “I was up till five this mornin’, so I slept late, or I’d been around before.” “It is very good of you, but I’ve got quite a good place. I won’t change, thank you.” “Oh, come now, don’t be huffy. How could I tell you’d be up at breakfast? Come along, my dear.” Hildegarde stared at him, and then she said quite gently: “I’m not the least huffy, but I’ll keep the seat I have, thank you.” “Oh, very well! _Very well!_” and he took himself off in a state that might, perhaps, be described in his own words as “huffy”—oh, but very huffy indeed. Before Vancouver’s Island faded out of sight everybody was greatly intrigued to see the men of the British post there signaling the passing ship. What were they doing that for? People ran about the decks asking one another, “What’s happened?” It was an exciting moment, for this communication, whatever it was, would be the last the _Los Angeles’_ passengers would know for many a day of the great world’s happenings. A boom of cannon came across the water. The news filtered down from the bridge: “Lord Roberts has entered Pretoria!” “And that’s the last human sign,” said ex-Governor Reinhart, “till we sight the ships at Nome.”