spirits. She nodded at the placid hypocrite across from her and said to Ogle: "Do you know what this wicked man has been up to? Robbing those poor gentlemen in the smoking-room again the whole live-long afternoon. Well, Libby and I'll just have to stand it, I expect, because he stole more from 'em to-day than any time yet, and I'm going to endow a new ward in a hospital when we get back home. What's more, the first place I'm going to look for when we land from this boat, it's a jewellery store!"
There had been no card game at all in the smoking-room that afternoon, as Ogle knew; and he found a momentary satisfaction in the thought that Tinker's hypocrisy was at least expensive.
But this pleasure was fleeting; the man was probably "made of money." One day the playwright had heard the manufacturer of worsteds and the Wackstle person talking of Tinker in the lounge. The two men evidently had known something about him before they encountered him on this voyage, and it was clear that they thought well of him. In fact, the worsted magnate had spoken of his "respect": "I have a great respect for any man that can build up a really big business out of nothing the way Mr. Tinker's done these last fifteen years with that paper com-
