“Have the kindness to leave my father alone,” the younger commanded. Never in his life had Monty found himself able to be so unpleasant. There was, he discovered, a certain joy in it. “Why, certainly,” said the other a trifle startled, “if you wish it. Only as he and I were old friends, I saw no harm in it.” “Old friends?” sneered Monty. “Let me see, you were the same year at Yale, weren’t you?” “Of course,” the affable stranger said, and turned to see the advancing steward. “What will you have?” he asked. “I don’t drink with strangers,” Monty said rising. “Strangers!” cried the other with the rising intonation of indignation. “Well, I like that!” “Then I shall leave you with a pleasant memory,” Monty said. “Good day.” “Stop a moment,” the stranger asked after a pause in which rage and astonishment chased themselves across his well-nourished countenance. “Who do you think I am, anyway?” “Your name and number don’t interest me,” Monty said loftily. He noted that the steward was enjoying it after the quiet inexpressive manner of the English servant. “But I’ve no doubt at some time or another I lost money to you--your old college friend’s money of course--in some quiet game with your confederates.” “Now, what do you think of that!” the red-faced man exclaimed as he watched Monty’s retreating figure. But the steward was non-committal. He was not paid to give up his inner thoughts but to bring drinks on a tray. The stout and affable gentleman was a member of the Stock Exchanges of London and New York and made frequent journeys between these cities. He held the ocean record of having crossed more times and seen the waves less than any stock-broker living. He had passed more hours in a favorite chair in the Mauretania’s smoking-room than any man had done since time began. He was raconteur of ability and had been a close friend of the elder Vaughan’s years before at Yale. And he burned with fierce indignation when he remembered that he had held the infant Monty years ago and prophesied to a proud mother that he would be her joy and pride. Joy and pride! He snorted and fell away from his true form so far as to seek the deck and suck in fresh air. There he happened upon Mrs. Harrington talking to Denby. She knew Godfrey Hazen. He had often been to Westbury, and Michael esteemed him for his great knowledge of the proper beverage to take for every emergency that may arise upon an ocean voyage. “What makes you look so angry?” she exclaimed. He calmed down when he saw her. “I’ve just been taken for a professional gambler,” he cried. “I thought all stock-brokers were that,” she said smiling. “I mean a different sort,” he explained, “the kind that work the big liners. I just asked him to have a drink when he said he didn’t drink with strangers and hinted I had my picture in the rogues’ gallery.” “Who was it?” she inquired. “That ne’er-do-well, Monty Vaughan,” he answered. “Monty?” she said. “Impossible!”