“Or, better still,” amended one of the first table financiers, “the last till we signal to the Nomites: The fleet’s behind! We’ve won the race. ’Rah! for the _Los Angeles_!” The betting had already begun. The run was to be anything from a week to a month. * * * * * Losing sight of land meant losing sunshine and calm seas, almost, it would appear, losing the vast majority of the passengers. The next few days saw a surprisingly deserted deck. The _Los Angeles_, however antiquated, had lost none of her pristine capacity for rolling. At least ninety per cent. of the people were laid low. Most of the stewards (all green hands working their passage to Nome), instead of ministering to others on the way, were making the voyage on their backs. Hildegarde, the only one of her cabin to leave it, dragged herself on deck early every morning to find fortitude by dint of staying out in the air. It was not solely the awful pitching of the ship, not even the added discomfort of the dank, cold weather, that made up the sum of her discomfort. The purser had got on her nerves. Still she didn’t like snubbing him any more than was strictly necessary—not from fear of reprisals (though, beyond a doubt, he was a power in this tiny kingdom), but because it was hideous to her even to see any one’s self-respect hurt, let alone be the one to deal the wound. Nor could she help sympathizing with him. He must be under a ludicrous and rather pathetic illusion about himself to “go on” like this. Whenever he could be spared from his duties, there, wherever Miss Mar turned, was the fat purser, practising his most killing smiles, and proffering aid and companionship. In these gray and dripping days of nearly abandoned decks, her sole refuge was in the society of the giant, who discoursed pleasantly of sea-birds, and in any moment’s lifting of the fog pointed out more whales. And he piloted Hildegarde’s see-sawing steps fore and aft till she found her sea-legs. She was vaguely conscious that at a pinch she might count on the spectacled man. Three days, now since she had had a sign from the Blumpittys or any of their party except Dr. Daly. He had laughed and said: “They’re all very busy. Guess they don’t want to be disturbed.” It was a relief when in the middle of a rainy afternoon Ruth Sears came to the surface. She was very wan and looked pathetic, childish, and attractive, too, in a skirt to her knees, stout boots and long gaiters. And she had come to ask Miss Mar for a little meat extract for Mrs. Blumpitty. Hildegarde had not waited for that moment to be glad she had disregarded the warm recommendation not to bother with ship supplies of her own, but to help herself out of the Blumpittys’ and pay at the end of the voyage.