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 some day a thoroughly chivalrous first-mate would lead her to the altar, then her necklaces might cease rattling.

When Dismal Jimmy's turn came, there was an awkward consultation in whispers. The Cornishman had no music, and Miss Green couldn't play by ear. Paul's pulses throbbed. He was sure Dismal Jimmy planned to sing "The Vicar of Bray" or "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep." Paul could improvise accompaniments, provided he knew the tune. Consequently when the curate, who was chairman, called for a volunteer Paul timidly responded. Otto gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder and shoved him into the aisle. When Dismal Jimmy had settled the matter of key, Paul played a flourishing entrée, and the song proceeded.

At its conclusion Miss Green waylaid Paul. On her homely face was an expression he knew quite well: fond, indulgent, adoring. If, after the manner of Miss Todd, she had linked her arm in his and said, "You're a wonder, Paul—dear," he would not have been surprised. What she did say was more to the point: "After that, you can't get out of giving us a solo! I'll tell Mr. Simpkins."

The next few numbers were a blur in Paul's mind. He was trying to select an appropriate piece from his old répertoire. The "Davidsbündler" march and the "Revolution" étude would sound grotesque on a programme that included such ditties as "We all went into the shop, to see what we could see!" He thought of salon pieces that would be sure of provoking applause. But he restlessly rejected them, for as the programme went on he became less anxious to show off than to convey to this roomful of seamen, stokers, engineers and stewards some superfine message. The simple wisdom of the bells had penetrated into his heart. His appetite for exotic sensations, appeased for the moment, had given place to a sense of well-being which became diffused in a new tenderness. Dimly, gropingly, he felt that if he could imbue his neigh-