But the Apostle is wary. He smiles benignly while he turns his face from temptation. "No you don't," he says, "never again." The Colonel slaps the coin down again, quite smartly. "Just once, Joe," he wheedles; "just once, for luck!" The Apostle strokes his chubby, child-like countenance with the tips of his fingers, still looking away--his eyes turned heavenward. "I won't do it, I tell you. No, now go on away. I told you yesterday I wouldn't match you again--ever." "Just once, Joe--just this one time." "I won't do it." The Apostle's attitude is still resolute, but there is a note of weakening in his voice and his hand is working almost imperceptibly toward his pocket. "Just once more, Joe, just for five dollars--one turn." The Apostle's hand is in his pocket. "Now, I tell you," he says, "I'll match you this one time, and never again." "All right, Joe, just this one time, for luck; come on, now." The coins go down together, and when they are uncovered the Colonel takes both, always. Then the Apostle jerks up his cap, jams it on, and starts for the deck. "Hold on, Joe; just once more--just for luck." "You go to hell, will you?" This is the programme daily with but slight variation. Sometimes the Apostle wins less than seven dollars--sometimes he loses more than five; but he always does win at piquet and he always does lose at matching. Thus do the unseen forces preserve the balance of exchange. We crossed over and came in sight of the mountains of Algeria during the afternoon, and all the rest of this halcyon day we skirted the African shore, while Laura and I and two other juveniles kept a game of shuffleboard going on the after deck. To-night there is to be another grand dinner and dance, in honor of Washington's Birthday. We shall awake to-morrow in the harbor of Algiers. X THE DIVERTING STORY OF ALGIERS This is a voyage of happy mornings. It was morning--just sunrise--when we met the American fleet homeward bound; it was morning when we caught the first glimpse of Madeira and steamed into the harbor of Funchal; the shores of Morocco--our first glimpse of the Orient--came out of the sunrise, and it was just sunrise this morning when I looked out of my port-hole on the blue harbor and terraced architecture of Algiers. And the harbor of Algiers _is_ blue, and the terraced architecture is white, or creamy, and behind it are the hills of vivid green. And there are palms and cypress-trees, and bougainvillea and other climbing vines. Viewed from the ship it is a picture city, and framed in the port-hole it became a landscape miniature of wondrous radiance and vivid hues. One of our passengers, a happy-hearted, elderly Hebrew soul, came along the promenade just outside my state-room and surveyed the vision through his glass. Presently he was joined by his comfortable, good-natured wife. "Vat you get me up so early for, Sol?" she said.