Strolling over the boat to see whether there were any acquaintances among his fellow-travelers, he found none, and, having nothing better to do, sat down on a camp-stool on the forward deck to view the picturesque scenery, which, however, had become so familiar that he fell to studying human nature as it appeared immediately around him.

That which interested him the most was a dudish young man, dressed in the extreme of fashion, carrying a heavy cane, and wearing eyeglasses.  He had high cheek bones, fishy gray eyes, fine teeth, and a simpering smile.  Tom judged he was a couple of years older than himself, and became interested in him because of his amusing efforts to charm the ladies around him.  The vulgar expression would be that he was trying to “mash” them.  The word is not a good one, but it will help my reader to understand the meaning.

Evidently he believed himself irresistible, and his smirking, posing, and ogling were ludicrous to the last degree.  Among the numerous young ladies on board were a dozen Vassar girls, as bright, merry, and full of mischief as they could possibly be.  They met the ogling of the dude with sly glances and smiles which made him more killing than ever.  Encouraged by this, and not doubting that he had made a conquest, he ventured to approach and address them.  The reception he met was enough to congeal water.  It fairly took away his breath.  Then he blushed clear out to the end of his ears, and withdrew to some other part of the boat, where he could hope to be better appreciated.

Some of the girls managed to stroll thither a few minutes later, as if unconscious of where he had gone.  Tom saw some fun was coming, and he drifted thither too.

The dude had succeeded in making an impression on a simpering girl, and was seated on one of the camp-stools beside her, talking in his drawling way, and pointing out the beautiful scenery as they swept past.  He frequently raised his heavy cane and indicated the different objects, the better to enlighten his companion.

“Aw, that is Haverstraw,” he volunteered, bringing the stick to a level.  “It is—­aw—­quite a famous place; reminds me of Holland across the water, you know.”

“What is there about Haverstraw to suggest Holland?” inquired his lady friend.

“They make bricks there—­aw—­a good many bricks—­aw—­may I inquire, doncherknow, did you ever see a brick?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied, with an impertinent glance from her mischievous eyes; “I think I am looking at one now.”

“You mean to say that I am a brick—­aw—­good, dooced good; I must tell that at the club—­dooced clevah; couldn’t do much bettah meself, doncherknow?  Now, if you will kindly rise from your seat—­aw—­I will point out a vewy interesting mountain peak.”

“Thank you, I can see well enough without rising.”

Nevertheless, the dude came to a stooping posture, and, with one gloved hand on the railing to steady him self, wabbled the bulky cane again in the direction of the shore.