"O Lord!" said Portlaw, "what are you kicking about? Have I ever--"

"You force me to be plain-spoken; you never seem to understand that if
you insist on my playing the wealthy do-nothing that you've got to keep
me going. And I tell you frankly, Billy, I'm tired of it."

"Oh, don't flatten your ears and show your teeth," protested Portlaw
amiably. "I only supposed you had enough--with such a salary--to give
yourself a little rope on a trip like this, considering you've nobody
but yourself to look out for, and that _I_ do that and pay you heavily
for the privilege"--his voice had become a mumble--"and all you do is to
take vacations in New York or sit on a horse and watch an army of men
plant trout and pheasants, and cut out ripe timber--O hell!"

"_What_ did you say?"

Portlaw became good-humouredly matter of fact: "I _said_ 'hell,'
Louis--which meant, 'what's the use of squabbling.' It also means that
you are going to have what you require as a matter of course; so come on
down to my state-room and let us figure it up before Jim Wayward begins
to turn restless and limp toward the card-room."

As they turned and strolled forward, Malcourt nudged him:

"Look at the fireworks over Lake Worth," he said; "probably Palm Beach's
welcome to her new and beardless prophet."

"It's one of their cheap Venetian fêtes," muttered Portlaw. "I know 'em;
they're rather amusing. If we weren't sailing in an hour we'd go. No
doubt Hamil's in it already; probably Cardross put him next to a bunch