tack."

"That's just it," returned Banks sharply. "We HAVE gone about, and
we're not going into Mazatlan at all. It's scandalous! I'll speak to
the captain--I'll complain to the consignees--I've got business at
Mazatlan--I expect letters--I"--

"Business, my dear fellow?" continued the voice, in gentle protest.
"You'll have time for business when you get to San Francisco. And as for
letters--they'll follow you there soon enough. Come over here, my boy,
and say hail and farewell to the Mexican coast--to the land of Montezuma
and Pizarro. Come here and see the mountain range from which Balboa
feasted his eyes on the broad Pacific. Come!"

The speaker, though apparently more at his ease at sea, was in dress and
appearance fully as unnautical as Banks. As he leaned over the railing,
his white, close-fitting trousers and small patent-leather boots gave
him a jaunty, half-military air, which continued up to the second button
of his black frock-coat, and then so utterly changed its character
that it was doubtful if a greater contrast could be conceived than that
offered by the widely spread lapels of his coat, his low turned-down
collar, loosely knotted silk handkerchief, and the round, smooth-shaven,
gentle, pacific face above them. His straight long black hair, shining
as if from recent immersion, was tucked carefully behind his ears, and
hung in a heavy, even, semicircular fringe around the back of his neck
where his tall hat usually rested, as if to leave his forehead meekly
exposed to celestial criticism. When he had joined the ship at Callao,
his fellow-passengers, rashly trusting to the momentary suggestion of
his legs on the gang-plank, had pronounced him military; meeting him
later at dinner, they had regarded the mild Methodistic contour of his