and covered his face with a large silk handkerchief.

Barry Craven turned toward his host with amused curiosity in his
grey eyes.

"Well?" He asked at length.

Atherton returned his look with a slightly embarrassed smile.

"It hasn't been so blamed funny after all," he said quietly. "A
Chinese coffin-ship from 'Frisco would be hilarious compared with
this trip," rapped a sarcastic voice from behind the silk
handkerchief.

"I've felt a brute ever since we lost sight of Sandy Hook,"
continued Atherton, looking away toward the twinkling lights on
shore, "and as soon as we put in here I couldn't stand it any
longer, so I cabled to Nina that I was returning at once. I'm
quite prepared to eat humble pie and all the rest of it--in fact
I shall relish it," with a sudden shy laugh.

His brother heaved his vast bulk clear of the deck chair with a
mighty effort.

"Humble pie! Huh!" he snorted contemptuously. "She'll kill the
fatted calf and put a halo of glory round your head and invite
in all the neighbours 'for this my prodigal husband has returned
to me!'" He ducked with surprising swiftness to avoid a book that
Atherton hurled at his head and shook a chubby forefinger at him
reprovingly.