At this Edith blushed, Albert frowned, Mae scowled at Eric, who opened his eyes amazedly, Norman Mann looked over the deck railing and laughed, the wind blew, the sailors heave-ho-ed near by, and there was a grand tableau vivant for a few seconds.
“O, come,” cried Mae, “suppose we stop looking like a set of illustrations for a phrenological journal, expressive of the various emotions. I was only speculating on the different sights we should see in the same places. Confess, now, Albert. Won’t your eyes be forever hunting out old musty, dusty volumes? Will not books be your first pleasures in the sight-seeing line?”
“O, no, pictures,” cried Edith.
“That is as you say,” Mae demurely agreed. “Pictures and books for you two at any rate.”
“And churches.”
“For your mother, yes, and beer-gardens for Eric, and amphitheatres and battle fields for Mr. Mann.”
“And for yourself?”
“The blue, blue bay of Naples, a grove of oranges, moonlight and a boat if it please you.”
“By the way,” suggested Albert, “about our plans; we really should begin to agitate the matter at once.”
“Yes, to do our fighting on shipboard. Let us agree to hoist the white flag the day we sight land, else we shall settle down into a regular War of the Roses and never decide,” laughed Norman.