Desperation marked itself on his brow. He scrambled from his chair, plunged his hand into his pocket, extracted a bill, transferred it to her waiting fingers, and hustled for the nearest doorway. He didn't reach it. The august undulations of Mrs. Charlton Denyse's form intercepted him. "This is shameless!" she declared. For once the abused youth was almost ready to agree with her. [Illustration: "COULDN'T YOU LEND ME FIVE DOLLARS?"] "What?" he said weakly. "Don't quibble with me, sir. I saw, if I did not hear. You passed Miss Wayne a note. I am astonished!" she said, in the tone of a scandalized Sunday-School teacher. The Tyro rapidly reflected that she would have been considerably more astonished could she have known the nature of the "note." From the tail of his eye he saw the recipient in close conversation with Judge Enderby. Remembering his own dealings with that eminent fee-hunter he drew a rapid conclusion. "Would you like to know what was in that note?" he inquired. "As a prospective connection of Miss Wayne's--" "If so, ask Judge Enderby." "Why should I ask Judge Enderby?" "Because, unless I'm mistaken, he's got the note now." "I shall not ask Judge Enderby. I shall report the whole disgraceful affair to the captain." "Don't do that!" cried the Tyro in alarm. "Perhaps that will put an end to your vulgar persecution of an inexperienced young girl." "O Lord!" groaned the Tyro, setting out in pursuit of the lawyer as the protector of social sanctities turned away. "Now I _have_ done it!" He caught up with the judge and his companion at the turn of the deck. "May I have a word with you, Judge?" he cried. "I'm busy," said the lawyer gruffly. "I'm engaged in an important consultation." "But this can't wait," cried the unfortunate. "Anything can wait," said the old man. "But youth," he added in an undertone. "You've got to listen!" The Tyro planted himself, a very solid, set bulk of athletic young manhood, in the jurist's path. "In the face of force and coercion," sighed the other. "I've been seen speaking to Miss--Miss--" "Grouch," supplied the indicated damsel sweetly. "Mrs. Denyse saw us. She has gone to report to the captain." "Lovely!" said the lawyer. "Beautiful! Enter the Wicked Godmother. The fairy-tale is working out absolutely according to Grimm." "But Miss--" "Grouch," chirped the young lady melodiously. "--will be locked up--" "In the donjon-keep," chuckled the lawyer. "Chapter the seventh. Who says that romance has died out of the world?" "But if Mrs. Denyse carries out her threat and tells the captain--" "The Wicked Ogre, you mean. If you love me, the Wicked Ogre. And he will lock the Lovely Princess in the donjon-keep until the dumb but devoted Prince arrives in time--just in the nick of time--to effect a rescue. That comes in the last chapter. And then, of course, they were mar--" "I'm tired of fairy-tales," said Little Miss Grouch hastily. "It won't be a bit funny to be locked up--"