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THE FORTUNE OF THE INDIES

furled sail and her curving prow. They had tidied her up a good bit since taking command of her, and had begun to feel the sweet pride of ownership. Mark next looked toward his latest charge, who had waked and again was weeping, beating her heels upon the mat and waving her hands, entangled in the still too long sleeves of the blue linen jacket.

"Hush, then!" said Mark, sibilantly.

As no effect was produced by these words, he cast a stealthy glance within, where Alan slept heavily, and picked up Ping-Pong in a hit-or-miss fashion by whatever arm or leg came handy. But he soon discovered that she fitted very naturally into one position on his arm, her head over his shoulder. Holding her thus, it so came to him that an obvious thing to do was to pat her on the back, which he did, heartily and rhythmically, so that her sobs were jolted out of her in a sort of four-four time.

"My stars, I wish I knew how to say 'Hush' to you in Chinese," he murmured. "I don't think I even know how to stop a simple United States baby from crying. There, there, now! What's the idea, anyway?"

With another look toward his brother, Mark