Staniford and Dunham drew stools to the rail, and sat down with
their cigars after the captain left them. The second mate passed by,
and cast a friendly glance at them; he had whimsical brown eyes that
twinkled under his cap-peak, while a lurking smile played under his
heavy mustache; but he did not speak. Staniford said, there was a
pleasant fellow, and he should like to sketch him. He was only an
amateur artist, and he had been only an amateur in life otherwise,
so far; but he did not pretend to have been anything else.

"Then you're not sorry you came, Staniford?" asked Dunham, putting
his hand on his friend's knee. "He characteristically assumed the
responsibility, although the voyage by sailing-vessel rather than
steamer was their common whim, and it had been Staniford's preference
that decided them for Trieste rather than any nearer port.

"No, I'm not sorry,--if you call it come, already. I think a bit of
Europe will be a very good thing for the present, or as long as I'm
in this irresolute mood. If I understand it, Europe is the place
for American irresolution. When I've made up my mind, I'll come home
again. I still think Colorado is the thing, though I haven't abandoned
California altogether; it's a question of cattle-range and
sheep-ranch."

"You'll decide against both," said Dunham.

"How would you like West Virginia? They cattle-range in West Virginia,
too. They may sheep-ranch, too, for all I know,--no, that's in Old
Virginia. The trouble is that the Virginias, otherwise irreproachable,