water in the direction from which they had come, and never turned his
head in response to the loud shouts, when an alligator was seen lying
upon the shore, or a big turtle was sunning itself on a log. He was a
Northerner, they knew from his general make-up, and a friend of Tom
Hardy, the captain said, when questioned with regard to him. This last
was sufficient to atone for any proclivities he might have antagonistic
to the South. Tom Hardy, although living in Georgia, was well known in
Florida. To be his friend was to be somebody; and two or three attempts
at conversation were made in the course of the morning. One man, bolder
than the rest, told him it was a fine day and a fine trip, but that the
"Hatty" was getting a little too _passée_ for real comfort. At the word
_passée_ the stranger looked up with something like interest, and
admitted that the boat was _passée_, and the day fine, and the trip,
too. A cigar was next offered, but politely declined, and then the
attempt at an acquaintance ceased on the part of the first to make it.
Later on an old Georgian planter, garrulous and good-humored, swore he'd
find out what stuff the Yankee was made of, and why he was down there
where few of his kind ever came. His first move was the offer of
tobacco, with the words: "How d'ye, sir? Have a chew?"

The stranger's head went up a little higher than its wont, and the proud
look on the pale face deepened as he declined the tobacco civilly, as he
had the cigar.

"Wall, now, don't chew tobacky? You lose a good deal. I couldn't live
without it. Sorter soothin', an' keeps my jaws goin', and when I'm so
full of vim,--mad, you know,--that I'm fit to bust, why, I spit and
spit,--backy juice in course,--till I spit it all out," the Georgian
said, taking an immense chew, and sitting down by the stranger, who gave
no sign that he knew of his proximity, but still kept his eyes on the