Blinker held Florence tightly until the boat had righted itself. She made no sound or sign of fear. He stood on a camp stool, ripped off the slats above his head and pulled down a number of the life preservers. He began to buckle one around Florence. The rotten canvas split and the fraudulent granulated cork came pouring out in a stream. Florence caught a handful of it and laughed gleefully. “It looks like breakfast food,” she said. “Take it off. They’re no good.” She unbuckled it and threw it on the deck. She made Blinker sit down and sat by his side and put her hand in his. “What’ll you bet we don’t reach the pier all right?” she said and began to hum a song. And now the captain moved among the passengers and compelled order. The boat would undoubtedly make her slip, he said, and ordered the women and children to the bow, where they could land first. The boat, very low in the water at the stern, tried gallantly to make his promise good. “Florence,” said Blinker, as she held him close by an arm and hand, “I love you.” “That’s what they all say,” she replied, lightly. “I am not one of ‘they all,’” he persisted. “I never knew any one I could love before. I could pass my life with you and be happy every day. I am rich. I can make things all right for you.” “That’s what they all say,” said the girl again, weaving the words into her little, reckless song. “Don’t say that again,” said Blinker in a tone that made her look at him in frank surprise. “Why shouldn’t I say it?” she asked calmly. “They all do.” “Who are ‘they’?” he asked, jealous for the first time in his existence. “Why, the fellows I know.” “Do you know so many?” “Oh, well, I’m not a wall flower,” she answered with modest complacency. “Where do you see these—these men? At your home?” “Of course not. I meet them just as I did you. Sometimes on the boat, sometimes in the park, sometimes on the street. I’m a pretty good judge of a man. I can tell in a minute if a fellow is one who is likely to get fresh.” “What do you mean by ‘fresh?’” “Why, try to kiss you—me, I mean.” “Do any of them try that?” asked Blinker, clenching his teeth. “Sure. All men do. You know that.” “Do you allow them?” “Some. Not many. They won’t take you out anywhere unless you do.” She turned her head and looked searchingly at Blinker. Her eyes were as innocent as a child’s. There was a puzzled look in them, as though she did not understand him. “What’s wrong about my meeting fellows?” she asked, wonderingly. “Everything,” he answered, almost savagely. “Why don’t you entertain your company in the house where you live? Is it necessary to pick up Tom, Dick and Harry on the streets?”