Doane walked back along the deck to cabin sixteen. A fresh breeze blew sharply here; the chairs had all been moved across to the other side where the sunlight lay warm on the planking. Within the social hall the second engineer--a wistful, shy young Scot--had brought his battered talking machine to the dining table and was grinding out a comic song. Two or three of the men were in there, listening, smoking, and sipping highballs; Doane saw them as he passed the door. Through the open but shuttered window of cabin number twelve came the clicking of a typewriter and men's voices, that would be Mr. Kane, discussing his “autobiography” with its author. Before number sixteen, Doane paused; sniffed the air. A curious odor was floating out through these shutters, an odor that he knew. He sniffed again; then abruptly knocked at the door. A drowsy voice answered! “What is it? What do you want?” “I must see you at once,” said Doane. There was a silence; then odd sounds--a faint rattling of glass, a scraping, cupboard doors opening and closing. Finally the door opened a few inches. There was Rocky Kane, hair tousled, coat, collar and tie removed, and shirt open at the neck. Doane looked sharply at his eyes; the pupils were abnormally small. And the odor was stronger now and of a slightly choking tendency. “What are you looking at me like that for?” cried young Kane, shrinking back a little way. “I think,” said Doane, “you had better let me come in and talk with you.” “What right have you got saying things like that? What do you mean?” “I have really said nothing as yet.” Kane, seeming bewildered, allowed the door to swing inward and himself stepped back. The big mate came stooping within. “Your note has been returned,” he said shortly; and gave him the paper. Kane accepted it, stared down at it, then sank back on the couch. “What's this to you!” he managed to cry. “What right.... what do you mean, saying I wrote this?” “Because you did. You sent it back by the little girl.” “Well, what if I did! What right--” “I am here at the request of his excellency, the viceroy of Nanking. You have been annoying his daughter. The fact that she chooses, while in her father's household, to wear the Manchu dress, does not justify you in treating her otherwise than as a lady. Perhaps I can't expect you to understand that his exellency is one of the greatest statesmen alive to-day. Nor that this young lady was educated in America, knows the capitals of Europe better, doubtless, than yourself, and is a princess by birth. She went to school in England and to college in Massachusetts. Take my advice, and try no more of this sort of thing.” The boy was staring at him now, wholly bewildered. “Well,” he began stumblingly, “perhaps I have been a little on the loose. But what of it! A fellow has to have some fun, doesn't he?” The mate's eyes were taking in keenly the crowded little room.