lashes quivered and at length lay heavily upon her porcelain cheeks. She was asleep.
Mark was about to put her down again upon her mat, but decided that it looked rather hard and chilly and that if he did she'd doubtless wake and howl again. So he sat with her in his arms, his back against the yulow-pivot, looking at the moon rise over her drooping dark head. Alan, rousing before his watch, looked out and saw him thus.
"Well, I'll be everlastingly dumfisticated!" he said to himself vehemently, and lay down again, marveling.
After breakfast the next morning, while the Sham-Poo flitted down the interminable sluggish reaches of the stream and Ping-Pong disported herself in the sunshine at the stern, Alan suddenly made frantic gestures of despair and sat down beside the mast.
"What in the world ails you?" Mark asked him. "Am I to have a maniac on my hands now?"
"It's you that's the maniac," Alan protested. "Honestly, you know, this is fantastic, perfectly and teetotally fantastic. It
