’ ‘Unfair!’ echoed his junior. Then he put the paper by. Ruth was something to study for future copy; she was almost unbelievable. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. "Weigh anchor, Van!" he shouted to the skipper, "and consult your despatches. He had an air of having told her a deep, personal secret. .
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