it, that's all." He glared enviously at the well-dressed men about
the room.

Over in a corner, propped against the leather upholstery, was Mr.
Cortlandt, as pale, as reserved, and as saturnine as at breakfast.
He was sipping Scotch-and-soda, and in all the time that Anthony
remained he did not speak to a soul save the waiter, did not shift
his position save to beckon for another drink. Something about his
sour, introspective aloofness displeased the onlooker, who shortly
returned to the deck.

The day was warming up, and on the sunny side of the ship the
steamer chairs were filling. Two old men were casting quoits; a
noisy quartette was playing shuffle-board. After idling back and
forth for a time, Kirk selected a chair and stretched himself out;
but he was scarcely seated before the deck steward approached him
and said:

"Do you wish this chair for the voyage, sir?"

"Yes, I think so."

"I'll put your name on it."

"Anthony, Suite A, third floor, front."

"Very well, sir." The man wrote out a card and fitted it to the
back of the chair, saying, "One dollar, if you please."

"What?"