Page:Ballinger Price--Fortune of the Indies.djvu/268

 ancient cities, where balconies overhung the stream and crooked stone steps led to steep alleys above. The press of boats here was very great. It was like a traffic jam in New York, Mark said, with no "cop's" whistle to straighten out the tangle. The boats crawled along side by side, some headed up, some down. Their progress was attended by the usual yelling and gong-beating of Chinese water-travel, and the boys watched it all with lazy amusement, thankful that they did not have to pilot the Sham-Poo through this bedlam.

"Poor little old Sham-Poo," Mark mused. "I rather liked her, at the last."

Suddenly Alan seized Mark's arm. He looked almost ghastly.

"In the name of goodness, what's the matter with you?" his brother demanded quickly.

"I say, Mark! Am I so far gone as that? I—oh, nonsense!"

"Easy now, old man. What's up?" Mark urged gently.

Alan, indeed, was white and nervous; he had felt the long strain more heavily than his happy-go-lucky brother.

"It's bosh, of course. I guess it's because