Mr. Hammond was already eating a substantial breakfast, arguing hotly the while about politics with Wally, who displayed a positive genius for saying infuriating things in an innocent and courteous manner. Mr. Hamilton and his secretary sat by a window, where Mr. Hamilton drank black coffee and ate unbuttered toast while he gazed spellbound at the shifting panorama below. Doctor Sims, at a table by himself, drank strong tea and read a treatise filled with unwholesome looking charts and figures. At a table with Dr. Forsythe and the correspondents, Doctor Trigg sat listening to the rapid fire of wit and slang and mild profanity which flashed from one to the other. They were full of anecdotes of their stay in Friedrichshafen, and the tales did not lose in the telling. But all stopped talking to greet David as he came in. “’Morning, captain!” “Hi, captain, what’s our next thrill?” “David, how are you?” Dulcie smiled. David was liked by everyone. No one could resist his brilliant smile, his thick rumpled hair that never would stay flat, his tall muscular body with its reassuring look of power. And David’s eyes, with their little laugh creases at the corners, were straight and very true. He came in, greeting everyone at once with a manner which made each one feel that the pleasant word was especially his. It was characteristic that he noticed Doctor Sims sitting alone, and took a place at his table. The doctor responded to David’s pleasant good-morning with a growl which was almost cheerful. Doctor Trigg and the star reporter, a keen-looking, gray-haired man, soon joined them. Doctor Sims closed his book with a baffled air. He never got enough time for research work, and he laid most of his interruptions to Doctor Trigg. Drat the man; he was always close by, ready to chat. Chat—who wanted to chat? What if they had been classmates in the long ago, and co-educators ever since? Why, by all the test tubes in the world, should a man as learned and profound as was Doctor Trigg in his chosen sphere, why should he want to chat? Doctor Sims did not wait. He leaped upon his quarry. “Yar-r-r-r-r-r,” he quoth forcibly. “Yar-r-r, Martin! What is your latest discovery this morning? More enthusiasm? More youthful prodigies, or more astonishing propensities? Let’s hear ’em, and get it over with.” “Why, no, Sims, I can’t say that I have anything profound or of specific value to offer for your consideration today.” “How did you like Friedrichshafen, Doctor Sims?” asked the star reporter. He was a friendly man. “Wonderful, wonderful!” said Doctor Sims. “I ransacked the city and miles of its environs. I found rich returns for my labor.” “He’s a collector,” explained Doctor Trigg to the reporter. “Epitaphs,” added Doctor Sims proudly. “Ep—” said the reporter, and stopped. “Precisely,” said Doctor Trigg. “Ep-itaphs. On monuments, you know: ‘Here lieth the body of Israel Jones, Till Judgment Day shall uncover his bones’.”