"It's pretty much so," assented Mr. Griswold, giving a lazy shake.
"Well, I'm going back to my chair if you've got through with me,
Louisa." And he sauntered off.

"Don't go, Reginald," begged his wife; "I haven't got a soul to talk
to."

"Oh, well, you can talk to yourself," said her husband, "any woman
can." But he paused a moment.

"Haven't those Pepper children got a good berth?" exclaimed Mrs.
Griswold, unable to keep her eyes off from the small group below. "And
their Mother Pepper, or Fisher, or whatever her name is--I declare it's
just like a novel, the way I heard the story from Mrs. Vanderburgh
about it all."

"And I wish you'd let me get back to my book, Louisa," exclaimed Mr.
Griswold, tartly, at the mention of the word "novel," beginning to look
longingly at his deserted steamer chair, "for it's precious little time
I get to read on shore. Seems as if I might have a little peace at
sea."

"Do go back and read, then," said his wife, impatiently; "that's just
like a man,--he can't talk of anything but business, or he must have
his nose in a book."

"We men want to talk sense," growled her husband, turning off. But Mrs.
Griswold was engrossed in her survey of Mr. King and the doings of his
party, and either didn't hear or didn't care what was remarked outside
of that interest.