"You know Stratton would be awfully riled," continued Jack easily. "He's
just stepped out to see a friend and got left by the fool boat. He'll be
along by the next steamer, and you're bound to meet him in Sacramento."

Her staring eyes seemed suddenly to grasp his meaning. But to his
surprise she burst out with a certain hysterical desperation, "No! no!
Never! NEVER again! Let me pass! I must go," and struggled to regain
the door. Jack, albeit singularly relieved to know that she shared
his private sentiments regarding Stratton, nevertheless resisted her.
Whereat she suddenly turned white, reeled back, and sank in a dead faint
in the chair.

The gambler turned, drew the key from the inside of the door, passed
out, locking it behind him, and walked leisurely into the main saloon.
"Mrs. Johnson," he said gravely, addressing the stewardess, a tall
mulatto, with his usual winsome supremacy over dependents and children,
"you'll oblige me if you'll corral a few smelling salts, vinaigrettes,
hairpins, and violet powder, and unload them in deck stateroom No. 257.
There's a lady"--

"A lady, Marse Hamlin?" interrupted the mulatto, with an archly
significant flash of her white teeth.

"A lady," continued Jack with unabashed gravity, "in a sort of
conniption fit. A relative of mine; in fact a niece, my only sister's
child. Hadn't seen each other for ten years, and it was too much for
her."

The woman glanced at him with a mingling of incredulous belief, but
delighted obedience, hurriedly gathered a few articles from her cabin,