"I wouldn' say that. . . . But," added Cai upon a happy thought, "if that's so, you know where to find excuse to leave off wearin' it."
"Hush!" she commanded. "How can you talk so with all these hundreds of eyes upon us?"
"I don't care." Cai's voice rose recklessly.
"Oh, hush! or the crew'll hear us?"
"I don't care, I tell you."
"But I do—I care very much. . . . You don't pay me compliments when we're alone," she protested, changing the subject slightly.
"I mean 'em all the time."
"Well, since compliments are flyin' to-day, that's a fine new hat you're wearin'. And I like the badge in your buttonhole: red with gold letters—it gives ye quite a smart appearance. What's the writin' on it?"
"'President.' 'Tis the only red-and-gold badge in the show.
Smart? I tell 'ee I'm feelin' smart."
It was indeed Cai's day—his hour, rather—of triumph. He had played a winning stroke, boldly, under the public eye: and a hundred comments of the sightseers, as he steered through the press of boats to the Committee Ship, testified to his success. Though he could not hear, he felt them.