“Got another one of them dime novels? Gimme it. I’m sick, too,” David said as he climbed into the upper berth.

At intervals for the first few hours Cochran called on them, bringing various remedies that he had solicited from their fellow passengers; but when dusk came the partners ventured out, trusting to the darkness to escape the attention of their well-wisher. As time went on they gained courage, and began to enjoy their freedom. They even dared to saunter along the decks. From the smoke room, which was forward under the bridge, came inviting sounds of conversation, merriment, and human society. They paused and looked enviously through the open window and breathed more freely, for they discerned Cochran absorbed in a game of poker, but still talking steadily.

“That’s me. Lucky Cochran!” they heard him explode, as he raked in a pot.

“Good old sport! Hope he plays poker from now until this boat ties up at the dock,” David remarked. “That’ll keep him busy, and make it a lot nicer for us.”

Their hopes seemed justified when, after the deck lights were turned out they retired to their cabin, for Cochran was still playing and still winning—and still garrulous. It was a late session, they learned on the following morning. They were leaning up against a deck cabin, staring at the sea and, as usual, saying nothing because there was nothing to talk about, when through the open window near them they heard a yawn, as some late sleeper turned in his berth, and then an answering yawn.

“Gad! I dreamed that sucker Cochran was talking to me in my sleep. Bad enough to have to sit up until three o’clock and listen to him. We certainly do have to work hard to earn our money. What?”

The other voice yawned and said, “Yep; but what we want to watch out for most is the howl he’ll make when we collar his bank roll. Rubes like him always yelp the loudest.”

“He’s got no friends aboard, I reckon; and he’s too much of a mutt to make a gun play, and, besides, we don’t want to pull it off, if we can help it, until just about the time the boat is ready to land. He can yell all he wants to then, and we can stand it.”

“‘’Tis music to the gambler’s ears to hear the loser squeal,’” the other voice quoted the old proverb.

David looked across at Goliath, gestured for silence, and slipped cautiously away. Goliath, with equal care, followed him until they were 

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