"I never was so disgusted with anything in my life as I am with this election business. If I say anything, the fellows tell me it is a chicken of my own hatching. Now, Cantwell pretends to be one of the chaplain's lambs, affects a gentlemanly bearing, and studies seamanship when all of us are on shore. Then he gave that Billy Bobstay a hundred rubles, and the fellows all cheered him for it. I am so mad, I can hardly hold in. I would rather be in a slave ship than here. I'm nobody now." De Forrest's schemes for his personal advancement had been utterly defeated, and this fact was the key to his disgust. Though he had been a wild boy on shore, he had done very well on board of the ship, stimulated by the hope of promotion, and by the enjoyment of his position in the cabin. His fall from the rank of lieutenant had a bad effect upon him, for instead of working to recover his lost position, he permitted evil thoughts to take possession of his mind, and chose to regard himself as an abused individual. Like many men in public life, he had frittered away whatever influence he had by laboring for self, instead of the general good. The students of the Academy "saw through him," and realized that he acted only from selfish considerations, just as the sensible people penetrate the motives of the politicians. If he was "nobody" now, it was clearly his own fault. "What are you going to do, De Forrest?" asked Beckwith. "We won't talk about it now, for there will be plenty of time to consider that matter when we get to Moscow. Do you know who will have charge of our party?" "I heard some one mention the chaplain." "Good!" exclaimed De Forrest. "He is not particularly sharp." "But Dr. Winstock will go to Moscow with us, and accompany the Volga party to Kazan." "All right; he will leave us in a day or two," replied the purser, with a significant smile, as though the arrangement just suited him. "How much money have you, Beckwith?" "I drew twenty pounds in St. Petersburg the other day, and I changed my money in Stockholm into Russian paper. I have nearly two hundred rubles." "Is that all you have?" "I thought that was a pretty big pile." "I have a letter of credit for a hundred pounds, upon which I can draw in any city of Europe," added the purser. "Well, I can get more when I write for it." "You had better write, then, for you haven't enough left to last you three weeks." "I don't know where we are going next," said Beckwith. "The squadron is going to Hamburg, I believe, and from there on a long cruise, which may use up five or six weeks." "You mean up the Mediterranean." "Yes; and if I were you, I would have a letter of credit sent to me at Constantinople." "Perhaps I will; but what's up, De Forrest?" "Don't say a word now. All our chances for a soft thing are gone in this ship, and if you want to enjoy yourself for the rest of the season, keep your weather eye open, and follow my lead--that's all for the present."