Robert thanked him, but could hardly reciprocate the feeling. In truth, he had taken no fancy to the man whom he had accepted as roommate and was only influenced by compassion for his reported sickness. They undressed and retired to their berths. As the stranger was about to step into his he said: “It is only fair to tell you my name. I am called Mortimer Fairfax and I am a partner in a business firm in Baltimore. Are you in business?” “Not exactly,” answered Robert, “though I am traveling on business just now.” “I believe you didn’t mention your name,” said Fairfax. “My name is Robert Coverdale.” “An excellent name. I know a family in Philadelphia by that name. Are you sleepy?” “A little.” “Then suppose we go to sleep?” “All right. Goodnight!” Then there was silence in the stateroom. It was not long before Robert’s eyes closed. He had gone about considerable during the day and was naturally fatigued. Generally he had no difficulty in sleeping soundly, but to-night proved an exception. He tossed about in his narrow berth and he was troubled with disagreeable dreams. Sometimes it happens that such dreams visit us to warn us of impending danger. Robert finally dreamed that a pickpocket had drawn his pocketbook from his pocket and was running away with it, and he awoke with a sudden start, his face bathed in perspiration. It was midnight. The band had ceased playing for two hours and all who had staterooms had retired to them. Only here and there in the main saloon a passenger lay asleep in an armchair. There was a scanty light, which entered the stateroom through a small window, and by this light Robert, half rising in bed, saw a sight that startled him. Mr. Mortimer Fairfax, his roommate, was out of his berth. He had taken down Robert’s trousers from the nail on which he had hung them and was in the act of pulling out his wallet, which he had imprudently left in it. This sight fully aroused the lad, and he prepared for action. Fairfax was half bent over, and Robert, who was deeply incensed, threw himself from the upper berth, landing on the back of his roommate, who was borne to the floor, releasing the garment with a startled cry. “What did you do that for?” he asked nervously. “What business had you with my pocketbook, you thief?” demanded Robert sternly. Mortimer Fairfax, who had supposed Robert to be fast asleep, saw that he was in a scrape, but he was a man fertile in expedients, and he instantly decided upon his course. “What do you mean?” he inquired in a tone of innocent bewilderment. “What do I mean?” retorted our hero. “I want to know what business you had with my pocketbook in your hand?” “You don’t mean to say that I was meddling with your pocketbook?” said Fairfax with an air of surprise. “That is exactly what I do say, Mr. Fairfax. If I hadn’t waked up just as I did, you would have had all my money, and I should have been penniless. That is the sort of fever and ague that troubles you, I suppose.”