“Aw—­I’m a little off soundings, doncherknow, and am not suah whether that is Dunderberg Mountain or Saint Anthony’s Olfactory Organ—­aw—­that’s clevah, don’t you think,—­Saint Anthony’s Olfactory Organ, doncherknow”—­At the moment of partly rising to his feet, a couple of Vassar girls walked past.  When directly opposite the camp-stool of the dude, one of them touched it with the toe of her shoe and shoved it to one side.  The lady seated near and listening to the young man’s chatter saw it, but pretended she did not, and, therefore, made no effort to save her new friend from his impending catastrophe.  It was the same with a dozen other persons.

There is no form of practical joking more to be condemned than that of taking a chair from under a person when he is about to sit down.  Lasting injury has resulted in more than one instance, and no person should ever do it himself or permit it to be done by another.  Possibly, however, the case now in hand was an exception; for it was evident that the principal performer was so soft that no harm could come to him from the fall.  No spectator felt any misgiving on that score.

Finding his companion did not rise as he had requested, the young man began slowly to sit down.  He continued doing so, until he struck the deck with a bump which caused his hat to fly off, the cane to drop from his hand, and his eyeglasses to fall from his nose.  He gradually picked himself up, and, amid the laughter of every one near, made his way to the salon below, and busied himself reading a copy of an English paper.

This incident would not be worth the telling but for that which followed.  The dudish young man who caused so much entertainment on board the steamer that afternoon was destined to cross the path of Tom Gordon in a way of which neither dreamed.

Tom gave no more thought to him until, when waiting to walk ashore at the landing, he saw, to his surprise, the young man was about to do the same.  It looked as if he intended to make a call at Bellemore.  Greater astonishment came when Tom saw the handsome carriage of Mr. Warmore at the landing.  The driver was perched on the high seat in front, while Mrs. Warmore and her daughter Jennie occupied the rear seat, facing the vacant one.

“Can it be possible?  Well, that beats me!”

[Illustration:  Tom held on like grim death.]

The carriage was waiting for this young man, who simpered forward with uplifted hat and greeted them effusively.  Mrs. Warmore noticed Tom, and bowed to him, inviting him to enter the carriage and ride with them,—­an invitation which, as he expressed to himself, he would not have accepted for seventeen thousand million dollars.  The dude stepped into the carriage, dropped into the seat facing the ladies, and devoted himself to gnawing the head of his cane and making bright remarks to them.

“Well, who in the name of the seven wonders can he be?” mused Tom, walking briskly homeward.  “He must be some relative of the Warmores; but they ought to be ashamed of such a specimen as that.  He was the laughing-stock of the boat.  I was forming quite an exalted opinion of Miss Jennie; but if she fancies that sort of thing, my respect for her has gone down to zero.”