"Don't smoke, Bruce!" groaned Rattleton, as the steamer gave an
unusually heavy roll. "I'm sick enough now. That will make me worse."
"Oh, we'll open the port."
"Open the port!" laughed Frank. "And we just told Bloodgood we did not
drink."
"Port-hole, not port wine," said the big fellow, with a yawn. "We'll let
in some fresh air."
"We can't let in anything fresher than just went out," declared the
Virginian, as he flung open the round window that served to admit light
and air.
"There's something mighty queer about that fellow," said Frank. "Did you
notice the diamonds he was wearing, fellows?"
"Yes," said Bruce, beginning to puff away at his new briarwood. "Regular
eye-hitters they were."
"Who knows they were genuine?" asked Jack.
"Nobody here," admitted Frank. "It is impossible to distinguish some
fake stones from real diamonds, unless you examine them closely. But,
somehow, I have a fancy that those were genuine diamonds."
"What makes you think so?"
"I don't know just why I think so, but I do. Something tells me that for
all of his swagger Bloodgood is a fellow who would scorn to wear paste
diamonds."
"What do you make out of the fellow, anyway?" asked Bruce.
"I'm not able to size him up yet," admitted Frank. "I'm not certain
whether he came of a good family or a bad one, but I'm inclined to fancy
it was the former.
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