selfish in holding your cigar more important than a woman's curiosity.
Who can tell what romance was in the address on that envelope--"

"What elements of noble tragedy, what advertisement for a certain
property in the Whi-Whi Valley," interrupted Roscoe, breaking off the
thread of a sailor's song he was humming, as he tended the water-kettle
on the fire.

This said, he went on with the song again. I was struck by the wonderful
change in him now. Presentiments were far from him, yet I, having read
that envelope, knew that they were not without cause. Indeed, I had an
inkling of that the night before, when I heard the voices on the hill.
Ruth Devlin stopped for a moment in the preparations to ask Roscoe what
he was humming. I, answering for him, told her that it was an old
sentimental sea-song of common sailors, often sung by officers at
their jovial gatherings. At this she pretended to look shocked, and
straightway demanded to hear the words, so that she could pronounce
judgment on her spiritual pastor and master.

He good-naturedly said that many of these old sailor songs were amusing,
and that he often found himself humming them. To this I could testify,
and he sang them very well indeed--quietly, but with the rolling tone of
the sailor, jovial yet fascinating. At our united request, his humming
became distinct. Three of the verses I give here:

"The 'Lovely Jane' went sailing down
To anchor at the Spicy Isles;
And the wind was fair as ever was blown,
For the matter of a thousand miles.