who I am."

"My dear sir," I said, "I don't know anything about you, except that you
are a damned nuisance."

He swayed from me, pained and surprised. Apparently he was upon an
outbreak of tears.

"Proud," he murmured, "_and_ haughty. Proud and haughty to the last."

I never have understood why an intoxicated man feels the climax of
insult is to hurl at you your name. Perhaps because he knows it is the
one charge you cannot deny. But invariably before you escape, as though
assured the words will cover your retreat with shame, he throws at you
your full title. Jones did this.

Slowly and mercilessly he repeated, "Mr.--George--Morgan--Crosby. Of
Harvard," he added. "Proud and haughty to the last."

He then embraced a passing steward, and demanded to be informed why the
ship rolled. He never knew a ship to roll as our ship rolled.

"Perfec'ly satisfact'ry ocean, but ship--rolling like a stone-breaker.
Take me some place in the ship where this ship don't roll."

The steward led him away.

When he had dropped the local pilot the captain beckoned me to the
bridge.