“Under the circumstances,” suggested Mr. Palford, “it might not be a bad idea to explain to her your idea of the steerage passage. An intelligent girl can often give excellent advice. You will probably have an opportunity of speaking to her tonight. Did you say they were sailing to-morrow?” To-morrow! That brought it so near that it gave Tembarom a shock. He had known that they sailed on Saturday, and now Saturday had become to-morrow. Things began to surge through his mind--all sorts of things he had no time to think of clearly, though it was true they had darted vaguely about in the delirious excitement of the night, during which he had scarcely slept at all. His face changed again, and the appeal died out of it. He began to look anxious and restless. “Yes, they're going to-morrow,” he answered. “You see,” argued Mr. Palford, with conviction, “how impossible it would be for us to make any arrangements in so few hours. You will excuse my saying,” he added punctiliously, “that I could not make the voyage in the steerage.” Tembarom laughed. He thought he saw him doing it. “That's so,” he said. Then, with renewed hope, he added, “Say, I 'm going to try and get them to wait till Wednesday.” “I do not think--” Mr. Palford began, and then felt it wiser to leave things as they were. “But I'm not qualified to give an opinion. I do not know Miss Hutchinson at all.” But the statement was by no means frank. He had a private conviction that he did know her to a certain degree. And he did. CHAPTER VIII There was a slight awkwardness even to Tembarom in entering the dining-room that evening. He had not seen his fellow boarders, as his restless night had made him sleep later than usual. But Mrs. Bowse had told him of the excitement he had caused. “They just couldn't eat,” she said. “They could do nothing but talk and talk and ask questions; and I had waffles, too, and they got stone-cold.” The babel of friendly outcry which broke out on his entry was made up of jokes, ejaculations, questions, and congratulatory outbursts from all sides. “Good old T. T.!” “Give him a Harvard yell! Rah! Rah! Rah!” “Lend me fifty-five cents?” “Where's your tiara?” “Darned glad of it!” “Make us a speech!” “Say, people,” said Tembarom, “don't you get me rattled or I can't tell you anything. I'm rattled enough already.” “Well, is it true?” called out Mr. Striper. “No,” Tembarom answered back, sitting down. “It couldn't be; that's what I told Palford. I shall wake up in a minute or two and find myself in a hospital with a peacherino of a trained nurse smoothing 'me piller.' You can't fool ME with a pipe-dream like this. Palford's easier; he's not a New Yorker. He says it IS true, and I can't get out of it.” “Whew! Great Jakes!” A long breath was exhaled all round the table. “What are you, anyhow?” cried Jim Bowles across the dishes. Tembarom rested his elbow on the edge of the table and began to check off his points on his fingers.