Bernard had always cherished high respect for literary men and professors, though it must be confessed that he did not venerate Professor Snowdon. To find Professor Puffer an inebriate was certainly a shock to him. Still, he remembered that Burns had been intemperate, and that Byron loved gin, and that in spite of his taste for whisky Professor Puffer might be a learned man.

The next day the professor was sober, partly, perhaps, because his supply of drink had given out. Bernard resolved to get better acquainted with him.

“Professor Puffer,” he said, after breakfast, “I am ready to begin work whenever you please.”

“All right! Have you been seasick?”

“No, sir.”

“I thought perhaps for the first three or four days you might be affected.”

“I thought so, too, as I am not used to the sea, but I haven’t had any trouble yet, so that I can go to work any time you desire.”

“I shan’t undertake to do any work on the ship, Mr.—— what is your name?”

“Brooks—Bernard Brooks.”

“Just so. I shall remember after a while.”

“I am very much obliged to you for giving me a situation when you don’t know any more of me.”

“Oh, Mr. McCracken spoke for you. A sharp man is Mr. McCracken.”

“I dare say he is, but I don’t know much about him.”

“Don’t you?” asked the professor, showing some interest. “Isn’t he your guardian?”

“Yes, sir, but I have never spent much time with him.”

“Has he charge of much property of yours?”

“He says I have no property.”

“Ha, indeed! As a rule, guardians are not appointed unless there is property.”

“He was a friend—that is, an acquaintance of my father.”

“How long has your father been dead?”

“Ever since I was five years old.”

Now it occurred to Bernard to ask some questions. “Mr. McCracken told me you were interested in antiquities.”

“Yes—antiquities.”

“Have you written any works on the subject?”

“Yes, several,” answered the professor, with some hesitation.

“Have you any of them with you?”

“No.”

“I thought I should like to look them over if you had, and it might help qualify me for my duties.”

“I have no doubt you will answer my purpose,” said the professor, yawning, as if he did not feel much interest in the subject.

Bernard was rather disappointed. He wished the professor would talk to him on his specialty, as it would be interesting and instructive.

“Are we going to stay abroad long?” he asked.

“My plans are not fully formed,” said the professor. He gave the impression of not caring to talk on the subject, and Bernard took the hint, and ceased to question him. He found time hanging heavily on his hands, as he appeared to have no duties and thought it might be interesting to make some acquaintances on board the ship.

There were ten passengers besides Professor Puffer and himself. The first he became acquainted with was a thin, sallow-faced man who wore green glasses. What he was Bernard could not conjecture, but soon learned.

He was standing forward looking out at the white capped waves when a voice accosted him. “Young man, are you bilious?”

Opening his eyes in surprise, Bernard recognized the sallow-faced passenger.

“I don’t think I am,” he answered.

“I am Dr. Felix Hampton,” said his new acquaintance. “I have discovered a medicine which will effectually cure biliousness.”

“Indeed, sir! You will be a public benefactor, in that case.”

“True, young man. I feel that my work is a great one. Thousands will bless my name. I am going abroad to introduce my medicine in Europe. There must be thousands of bilious cases in London alone.”

“I presume you are right. Shall you establish yourself in London?”

“I cannot give myself to any one country. I shall endeavor to sell an interest in my medicine to some responsible party who will push it in Great Britain. Who is the red-faced man you are traveling with?”

“Professor Ezra Puffer.”

“What is he professor of?”

“I don’t know, sir. I believe he is interested in antiquities.”

“Is he bilious?”

“I haven’t known him long enough to tell.”

“Would you mind recommending my medicine to him?”

“I think you had better do so yourself. I don’t know anything about the medicine, you know.”

“Is he your father?”

“No, sir.”

The idea of being the son of Professor Puffer was quite repugnant to Bernard, and he answered promptly.

“You may be bilious without knowing it. If you will, come to my stateroom I will give you a teaspoonful of the medicine without charge.”

“Thank you, sir. I don’t care for it. If I were sick I would make up my mind to buy medicine, but I feel perfectly healthy. Do you use it yourself?”

“I did, but now I am entirely cured of the insidious disease.”

It struck Bernard that Dr. Hampton was singularly unhealthy in appearance, but this he kept to himself.

As he walked to another part of the deck he was accosted by a bright, healthy looking man of perhaps thirty-five, with a rosy face and a quick, alert manner.

“I see you have been talking with Dr. Hampton,” he said.

“I didn’t know that was his name.”

“Did he ask you if you were bilious?”

“Yes, and offered me a dose of his medicine without charge.”

The other laughed. “He made me the same liberal offer. Neither you nor I look like bilious cases.”

“I should think not,”

“The doctor himself looks like a victim of liver complaint. Are you traveling alone?”

“No, sir. I am traveling with Professor Puffer.”

“A short man with a red face?”

“Yes.”

“A friend of your family?”

“I never saw him until I met him on the ship.”

“You called him Professor Puffer. What is he professor of?”

“I believe he is interested in antiquities.”

“He seems to me more interested in liquor. But I must apologize. I should not speak so of your friend.”

Bernard laughed.

“I am not sensitive on the subject of my friend, or rather my employer,” he said.

“Your employer?”

“Yes; I am his secretary, and I believe I am to assist him in his literary labors.”

“Then I suppose you will become a professor of antiquities also.”

“Perhaps so,” assented Bernard, with a smile.

“For my part, I don’t care much for antiquities. I am more interested in the present than in the past. I am buyer for a Boston house, and my name is Nelson Sturgis. How may I call you?”

“Bernard Brooks.”

“Professor Brooks?” asked Sturgis.

“Not yet,” laughed Bernard.

“Suppose we take a little promenade. I make a practice of walking two hours daily on shipboard in order to get my customary exercise.”

“I shall be glad to join you, Mr. Sturgis.”

As they were walking they had an opportunity to witness an amusing meeting between Professor Puffer and Dr. Hampton.

As Professor Puffer emerged from the cabin the sallow-faced man approached him with the stereotyped question, “Pardon me, sir, but are you bilious?”

“What the—dickens do you mean?” demanded Professor Puffer, glaring at the doctor.

“No offense, sir, but I think most persons are bilious.”

“You look a good deal more bilious than I.”

“No, sir, you are mistaken. I have cured myself of liver complaint by Dr. Hampton’s celebrated liver tonic. I am Dr. Hampton.”

“Are you? Well, your appearance doesn’t speak very well for your remedy. My liver is perfectly regular.”

“I am glad to hear it, sir. I was speaking to your secretary a short time since, but he doesn’t think he is bilious. A boy of his age wouldn’t be apt to know. I will make you the same offer that I did him. I will give you a dose of the tonic free gratis, and you may find that it will benefit you.”

“Is there any whisky or brandy in the tonic?” asked Professor Puffer, with sudden interest.

“No, sir, not a drop. You may rest assured that it is a strict temperance medicine.”

“Then I don’t want any of it, sir. Temperance is a humbug. Are you a temperance man?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am not. Good morning.”

Dr. Hampton’s next interview was more satisfactory. Among the passengers was a thin maiden lady of uncertain age. She was beginning to suffer seasickness when Dr. Hampton approached her.

“Pardon me,” he said, “but you look bilious.”

“I fear I am,” she answered, in a hollow tone. “I feel dreadfully.”

“I thought I could not be mistaken. Shall I relieve you?”

“Oh, sir, if you only could.”

“I can. A bottle of my celebrated liver tonic will make a new man—I mean woman—of you.”

“Bring me some, please, for indeed I feel very sick.”

Dr. Hampton produced a small bottle from his pocket. “This is it,” he said. “A dollar, please.”

The maiden lady drew a dollar bill from her pocket, and the doctor, producing a spoon, administered a dose. The result was magical! The lady rushed hastily to the side of the vessel, and was relieved of her breakfast.

“I feel better,” she gasped.

“I knew you would,” said the doctor, and he put the bill into his pocket with a smile of satisfaction.