“Very well,” she said. “Let us below; but oh, for the axe!” “Bring the lady an axe,” cried Xanthippe, sarcastically. “She wants to cut somebody.” The sally was not greeted with applause. The situation was regarded as being too serious to admit of humor, and in silence they filed back into the billiard-room, and, arranging themselves in groups, stood about anxiously discussing the situation. “It’s getting rougher every minute,” sobbed Ophelia. “Look at those pool-balls!” These were in very truth chasing each other about the table in an extraordinary fashion. “And I wish I’d never followed you horrid new creatures on board!” the poor girl added, in an agony of despair. “I believe we’ve crossed the bar already!” said Cleopatra, gazing out of the window at a nasty choppy sea that was adding somewhat to the disquietude of the fair gathering. “If this is merely a joke on the part of the Associated Shades, it is a mighty poor one, and I think it is time it should cease.” “Oh, for an axe!” moaned Elizabeth, again. “Excuse me, your Majesty,” put in Xanthippe. “You said that before, and I must say it is getting tiresome. You couldn’t do anything with an axe. Suppose you had one. What earthly good would it do you, who were accustomed to doing all your killing by proxy? I don’t believe, if you had the unmannerly person who slammed the door in your face lying prostrate upon the billiard-table here, you could hit him a square blow in the neck if you had a hundred axes. Delilah might as well cry for her scissors, for all the good it would do us in our predicament. If Cleopatra had her asp with her it might be more to the purpose. One deadly little snake like that let loose on the upper deck would doubtless drive these boors into the sea, and even then our condition would not be bettered, for there isn’t any of us that can sail a boat. There isn’t an old salt among us.” “Too bad Mrs. Lot isn’t along,” giggled Marguerite de Valois, whose Gallic spirits were by no means overshadowed by the unhappy predicament in which she found herself. “I’m here,” piped up Mrs. Lot. “But I’m not that kind of a salt.” “I am present,” said Mrs. Noah. “Though why I ever came I don’t know, for I vowed the minute I set my foot on Ararat that dry land was good enough for me, and that I’d never step aboard another boat as long as I lived. If, however, now that I am here, I can give you the benefit of my nautical experience, you are all perfectly welcome to it.” “I’m sure we’re very much obliged for the offer,” said Portia, “but in the emergency which has arisen we cannot say how much obliged we are until we know what your experience amounted to. Before relying upon you we ought to know how far that reliance can go—not that I lack confidence in you, my dear madam, but that in an hour of peril one must take care, to rely upon the oak, not upon the reed.”