Nightmare!

"PHILIP, did you notice that tall, thin man in the gray ulster,
who was walking up and down the boat-deck just before dinner?"

"Yes, sir. I observed the gentleman. Very haristocratic
appearance, if I may say so, Mr. Jones."

"Exactly. He never bought that ulster in New York. When we reach
London I want you to look around and see if you can find a tailor who
will make me one of the same cut."

"Very well, sir. Very good taste, if I may say so, Mr. Jones."

"You may. And--let's see--I need a few new golf sticks, and--a
dozen new shirts. Why did you pack this automatic in this trunk,
Philip? Put it in that suitcase."

"Yes, sir. I 'ardly thought you'd require it while on board the
Lusitania, Sir, if I may say so, Mr. Jones."

"Certainly you may. No, events requiring a pistol as stage-
property are not frequent on a liner. By the way, you never showed me
how to work the thing, Philip."

"No, Sir. The shopman from whom I purchased it declared it simple
of hoperation, but I 'ave not found it so sir."

"Well, find out in London and show me. I never met a burglar, but
if I ever should it would be embarrassing to point a pistol at him and
not be able to fire it off. I admire the heroes of burglar stories.
They're always such efficient people."

"Hunder exciting circumstances, sir, one becomes much more
efficient. They bring it out of a man, if I may say so, Mr. Jones."

"By all means. Well, golf is exciting enough for me. Merridale and
I are going to run over to the St. Andrews links. It's been the dream
of my life to play the St. Andrews, but something has always come up
to prevent."

"Nothing is likely to hoccur, I am sure, sir. Shall I repack the
steamer trunk now, Mr. Jones?"

"Yes. And call me a little earlier, in the morning, Philip. I have
an idea it's going to be fine weather, and since it's the last of the
voyage I want to make the most of it. What time is it? Eleven, eh?
Well, I'll go to bed early for once and get a good night's rest. Thank
Heaven for a quiet life, Philip. Cribbage and the Times for you, golf
and--"

"Beg pardon for hinterrupting, sir, but do you want this book
packed in the trunk?"

"'Paradise Island'? Yes, pack the thing away. Did you ever read
it, Philip?"

"No, sir. I don't care for them himpossible stories, if I may say
so, sir."

"And welcome. Now, I'm thirty-two years old, I've yachted, ridden,
motored and been about the world a good bit, and I've never had a real
adventure in my life. People don't have adventures unless they're
gentlemen in the filibustering line, or polar explorers, or something
like that. This modern world of ours is as safe as a church, barring
accidents, and they are never romantic. End in a hospital or a beastly
morgue. Anybody I suppose, can find trouble by looking for it, but
that's not exactly in my line."

"No, sir. Very bad form, sir, if I may say so, Mr. Jones."

"You may indeed. Here, I'll help you with that strap, and then--
bed."

* * * *

Ragged fragments of cloud raced across a sky where great,
brilliant stars beamed fitfully. The wind hurled the wave crests
through space, so that the air was almost as watery as the wide waste
of billows and creaming surges in the midst of which Mr. Roland C.
Jones, of New York City, found himself most unexpectedly struggling.

How it could be that he was here battling for his life, with the
stars, the wind and raging, tumbling seas for his sole companions, did
not immediately trouble him. He was too thoroughly engaged in trying
to get a breath that was not half or all salt water to concern himself
about either past or future. The mere physical present was a little
bit more than he could comfortably handle.