One of them shouted out the inquiry, “What’s the matter with Buel?” and all answered in concert with a yell that made the steamer ring, “He’s all right.”
“You’ll have to sing ‘Hail Columbia’ night and morning if you stay in this cabin.”
“Very good,” said Buel, entering into the spirit of the occasion. “Singing is not my strong point, and after you hear me at it once, you will be glad to pay a heavy premium to have it stopped.”
“Say, Buel, can you play poker?”
“No, but I can learn.”
“That’s business. America’s just yearning for men who can learn. We have had so many Englishmen who know it all, that we’ll welcome a change. But poker’s an expensive game to acquire.”
“Don’t be bluffed, Mr. Buel. Not one of the crowd has enough money left to buy the drinks all round. We would never have got home if we hadn’t return tickets.”
“Say, boys, let’s lock the purser out, and make Buel an American citizen before he can call for help. You solemnly swear that you hereby and hereon renounce all emperors, kings, princes, and potentates, and more especially—how does the rest of it go!”
“He must give up his titles, honours, knighthoods, and things of that sort.”
“Say, Buel, you’re not a lord or a duke by any chance? Because, if you are, we’ll call back the purser and have you put out yet.”