Only once had he caught sight of a white tam and a tan
coat, and that was when they were being conducted hastily below by a
sympathetic stewardess.
But Sandy needed no further food for his dreams than he already had.
On sunny afternoons, when he had the time, he would seek a secluded
corner of the deck, and stretching himself on the boards with the
green book in his hand, would float in a sea of sentiment. The fact
that he had decided to study medicine and become a ship's surgeon in
no wise interfered with his fixed purpose of riding forth into the
world on a cream-white charger in search of a damsel in distress.
So thrilled did he become with the vision that he fell to making
rhymes, and was surprised to find that the same pair of eyes always
rhymed with skies--and they were brown.
Sometimes, at night, a group would gather on the steerage deck and
sing. A black-haired Italian, with shirt open at the throat, would
strike a pose and fling out a wild serenade; or a fat, placid German
would remove his pipe long enough to troll forth a mighty
drinking-song. Whenever the air was a familiar one, the entire circle
joined in the chorus. At such times Sandy was always on hand, singing
with the loudest and telling his story with the best.
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