Seldom have I made so long a speech or so rude a speech, and as soon as I had spoken, on account of the lovely lady, I was sorry. But after a pause of half a second she laughed delightedly. “I see,” she cried, as though it were a sort of a game. “He means Lipton! We can’t lift the cup, we can’t lift the roofs. Don’t you see, Stumps!” she urged. In spite of my rude remark, the young man she called Stumps had continued to smile happily. Now his expression changed to one of discomfort and utter gloom, and then broke out into a radiant smile. “I say!” he cried. “That’s awfully good: ‘If your war-ships aren’t any better at lifting things--’ Oh, I say, really,” he protested, “that’s awfully good.” He seemed to be afraid I would not appreciate the rare excellence of my speech. “You know, really,” he pleaded, “it is AWFULLY good!” We were interrupted by the sudden appearance, in opposite directions, of Kinney and the young man with the real hat-band. Both were excited and disturbed. At the sight of the young man, Stumps turned appealingly to the golden-rod girl. He groaned aloud, and his expression was that of a boy who had been caught playing truant. “Oh, Lord!” he exclaimed, “what’s he huffy about now? He TOLD me I could come on deck as soon as we started.” The girl turned upon me a sweet and lovely smile and nodded. Then, with Stumps at her side, she moved to meet the young man. When he saw them coming he halted, and, when they joined him, began talking earnestly, almost angrily. As he did so, much to my bewilderment, he glared at me. At the same moment Kinney grabbed me by the arm. “Come below!” he commanded. His tone was hoarse and thrilling with excitement. “Our adventures,” he whispered, “have begun!” II I felt, for me, adventures had already begun, for my meeting with the beautiful lady was the event of my life, and though Kinney and I had agreed to share our adventures, of this one I knew I could not even speak to him. I wanted to be alone, where I could delight in it, where I could go over what she had said; what I had said. I would share it with no one. It was too wonderful, too sacred. But Kinney would not be denied. He led me to our cabin and locked the door. “I am sorry,” he began, “but this adventure is one I cannot share with you.” The remark was so in keeping with my own thoughts that with sudden unhappy doubt I wondered if Kinney, too, had felt the charm of the beautiful lady. But he quickly undeceived me.