something more appropriate." It occurred to the spinster to ask:
"Have you ever seen a fashion magazine?"

"No. Sometimes we had the _Illustrated London News_ and _Tit-Bits._
Sailors would leave them at the trader's."

"Alice in Wonderland!" cried Prudence, perhaps a little enviously.

"Oh, I've read that!"

Spurlock had heard distinctly enough all of this odd conversation;
but until the spinster's reference to the family album, no phrase
had been sufficient in strength of attraction to break the trend of
his own unhappy thoughts. Out of an old family album: here was the
very comparison that had eluded him. His literary instincts began
to stir. A South Sea island girl, and this was her first adventure
into civilization. Here was the corner-stone of a capital story;
but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it.

Other phrases returned now, like echoes. The beachcomber, the
lowest in the human scale; and some day he would enter into this
estate. Between him and the beach stood the sum of six hundred
dollars.

But one thing troubled him, and because of it he might never arrive
on the beach. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill
ironically the story of his coat--to take it off and fling it at
the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh.

"Look at it!" he felt like screaming. "Clean and spotless, but