"Let me take you to your chair."

Miss Earle smiled. "It would be very little use," she said.

The deck steward was not to be seen, and Morris, diving into a dark and
cluttered-up apartment, in which the chairs were piled, speedily picked
out his own, brought it to where the young lady was standing, spread it
out in its proper position, and said--

"Now let me get you a rug or two."

"You have made a mistake. That is not my chair."

"Oh yes, it is. I looked at the tag. This is your name, is it not?"

"Yes, that is my name; but this is not my chair."

"Well, I beg that you will use it until the owner calls for it."

"But who is the owner? Is this your chair?"

"It was mine until after I smashed up yours."

"Oh, but I cannot accept your chair, Mr. Morris."

"You surely wouldn't refuse to do what you desired, in fact, commanded,
another to do. You know you practically ordered me to take your chair.
Well, I have accepted it. It is going to be put right to-day. So, you
see, you cannot refuse mine."