Hildegarde and Cheviot, exchanging smiles, went on down the deck in his wake. But suddenly the Ohioan stopped and wheeled about in the direction of a voice that had just said: “No, siree, I ain’t worrittin’ with no Dingley and no nothin’ I ain’t never tried.” The inventor of amalgam-plated copper, as though he’d heard himself called by name, retraced his steps with a precipitation that nearly capsized Miss Mar. The gentleman who had just declined Dingley squared his shoulders and announced to all and sundry: “No, siree! Y’ got to _show_ me. I’m from Missoura.” Hildegarde caught at Cheviot’s arm. “They’ve got hold of our saying!” “Oh, that’s everybody’s saying now,” he answered. “I’ve heard it twenty times since I came on board.” She waited, incredulous, listening. “If I got any minin’ to do,” the man from Missouri went on, “give _me_ Swain’s Improved Amalgamator every time. D’ye know what they done to test Swain’s Improved Amalgamator?” “Nop.” “Well, lemme tell yer. They took a gold dollar and they pulverized it.” “I’ve pulverized many a dollar in my day,” says a gloomy and familiar voice. While the deck chuckled with sympathy. Hildegarde whispered, “That’s my Blumpitty.” “Well, sir,” the other went on unmoved, “they passed that dollar in gold dust that I’m tellin’ y’ ’bout, they passed it through a sixty-mesh sieve, and they mixed it good and thorough with a ton—a ton, sir, of gravel and sand. And they run that through Swain’s Improved Gold Amalgamator, and what do you think they got?” “Guess,” says Mr. Blumpitty, “they got to know that any feller can pulverize a dollar—” “Haw, haw.” “—but it’s the daisy that can pick one up.” “Well, sir, Swain’s Improved Amalgamator’s jest that kind of a daisy. It picked up jest exactly ninety-eight cents out of that gold dollar.” And every owner of a rival invention roared with derision. “Oh, Mr. Purser!” Louis Napoleon Brown was hailed with a suddenness that arrested his steps, but did not deprive him of his haughty mien. “I find I owe you an apology,” said Miss Mar. His sternness of visage relaxed slightly. “Well, you have treated me mighty mean,” he admitted in a low voice. Cheviot was staring and making his way to the girl. “Yes,” she said, with a subdued air that might, to the purser, have seemed to be penitential, but she spoke so that Cheviot could hear, “You must have thought it very forward of me to call you ‘Louis,’ that first evening. I meant this gentleman, who is an old friend of mine. I’ve only just realized how mystified you must have been.” Wherewith she took Cheviot’s arm, and away the two went, leaving the purser transfixed. Oh, the sun-warmed wind blowing in your face! Oh, this seeing the brave world, with a friend at your side! “I don’t remember you at meals,” she said to him. “I never was at meals.” “Where did you eat?” “Up in the captain’s room.” “Well, you won’t any more, will you?” “I don’t know.” “You want us to eat apart!”