“I know it. I know I have. But--but now when it comes to really goin' I'm not so sure. Uncle Bedny Small was always declarin' in prayer-meetin' that he wanted to die so as to get to Heaven, but when he was taken down with influenza he made his folks call both doctors here in town and one from Harniss. I don't know whether I want to go or not, Hosy. I--I'm frightened, I guess.” Jim's answer to my telegram arrived the very next day. “Have engaged two staterooms for ship sailing Wednesday the tenth,” it read. “Hearty congratulations on your good sense. Who is your companion? Write particulars.” The telegram quashed the last of Hephzy's objections. The fares had been paid and she was certain they must be “dreadful expensive.” All that money could not be wasted, so she accepted the inevitable and began preparations. I did not write the “particulars” requested. I had a feeling that Campbell might consider my choice of a traveling companion a queer one and, although my mind was made up and his opinion could not change it, I thought it just as well to wait until our arrival in New York before telling him. So I wrote a brief note stating that my friend and I would reach New York on the morning of the tenth and that I would see him there. Also I asked, for my part, the name of the steamer he had selected. His answer was as vague as mine. He congratulated me once more upon my decision, prophesied great things as the result of what he called my “foreign junket,” and gave some valuable advice concerning the necessary outfit, clothes, trunks and the like. “Travel light,” he wrote. “You can buy whatever else you may need on the other side. 'Phone as soon as you reach New York.” But he did not tell me the name of the ship, nor for what port she was to sail. So Hephzy and I were obliged to turn to the newspapers for information upon those more or less important subjects, and we speculated and guessed not a little. The New York dailies were not obtainable in Bayport except during the summer months and the Boston publications did not give the New York sailings. I wrote to a friend in Boston and he sent me the leading journals of the former city and, as soon as they arrived, Hephzy sat down upon the sitting-room carpet--which she had insisted upon having taken up to be packed away in moth balls--to look at the maritime advertisements. I am quite certain it was the only time she sat down, except at meals, that day. I selected one of the papers and she another. We reached the same conclusion simultaneously. “Why, it must be--” she began. “The Princess Eulalie,” I finished. “It is the only one that sails on the tenth. There is one on the eleventh, though.” “Yes, but that one is the 'Plutonia,' one of the fastest and most expensive liners afloat. It isn't likely that Jim had booked us for the 'Plutonia.' She would scarcely be in our--in my class.”