“I wish to thank you for your act of kindness to my daughter,” he said.  “She has told me about it.”

“It was nothing, I assure you, sir,” replied Chester.  “I don’t think the fellow will annoy her again.”

“I hope not.  On these ocean voyages one is thrown so closely into all kinds of company.  We, of course, must suppose all our fellow-passengers are respectable people, until we find out otherwise—­but let us sit down.  Where are our chairs, Lucy?”

“They’re on the other side, I believe, where we left them this morning.”

“It’s a little too windy there.”

“I’ll bring them around to you,” said Chester.  Lucy followed him, pointing out which of the chairs belonged to them.

“May I not carry one?” she asked.

“You do not appear strong enough to lift one.”

Chester carried the two chairs around to the side of the sheltered deck, then found a vacant chair for himself which he placed with the other two.

“Thank you very much,” said the minister, as they seated themselves.  “The day is really fine, isn’t it?  After the sea-sickness, there is something glorious in a pleasant sea voyage.  This is my third time across, but I don’t remember just such a fine day as this.  Are you a good sailor?” this to Chester.

“I’ve not missed a meal yet, if that’s any indication.”

“I envy you.  I have often wished I could be on deck in a bit of real bad weather.  We had a little blow the other day, I understand, when that poor fellow lost his life.”

“Yes; I saw the accident,” replied Chester; whereupon he had to relate the details to them.

“Well, such is life—­and death,” was the minister’s only comment on the story.

The minister did most of the talking.  Perhaps that was because he was used to it, having, as he told Chester, been a preacher for twenty-five years.  The daughter commented briefly now and then, prompting his memory where it seemed to be weak.  Chester listened with great interest to the man’s account of former trips to Europe and his description of famous places.  The speaker’s voice was pleasant and well-modulated.  His clean-cut face lighted up under the inspiration of some vivid description.  Chester found himself drawn to the man nearly as much as he had been to the daughter.

“You’re an American,” announced the minister, turning to Chester.

“Yes.”

“A western American, too.”

“Right again; how can you tell?”

“Easily enough.  How far west?”

“My home is in Chicago.”

“Well, Lucy and I can beat you.  We came from Kansas City.  Ever been there?”

“I’ve passed through twice.”

“Through the Union Depot only?” asked Lucy.

“You must have received a very unpleasant impression of our city.”

“Well, happily I did get away from that depot.  I took a ride on the cars out to Independence, and I saw a good part of the city besides.  It’s beautiful out towards Swope Park—­”