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Well, it may not mean nothin’ in your life, but somethin’ I always wanted to do was take a trip some-wheres — just for the ride. So I gets flirtin’ around with a lot of them seethe-world folders, and the first thing I know I’m booked for Hawaii. I can’t honestly afford a vacation, but I figgers there must be somethin’ over there a good crook can turn his hand to, same as anywhere else.

Anyhow, the trip will do me good, because I ain’t been feelin’ myself for a long time now.

All dolled up like a trouper I saunters aboard about sailin’ time, and it sure is a thrill to be for once mountin’ a means of transportation without the law at my heels. I follows the boy down with my bags to the stateroom I’m to share with some other gent, and then hurries back on deck to see the excitements. The band is whoopin’ it up and the deck’s full of serpentine, bonny voyage baskets and gay parties, and I gets right into the spirit of the thing. All these folks looks like ready money, and it strikes me maybe this ship itself has got possibilities.

So we steams out through the Gate into the path of the settin’ sun. I watches the land grow low in the distance and then ambles down some ladders to D deck and hunts up my quarters. All carefree and unsuspectin’ I steps over the doorsill into the double stateroom, and starts to spruce up. I ain’t seen nothin’ of my roommate yet, but his bags is there on his bed. “F. McG.” says the fat gilt inscription on one of ’em.

“F. McG.” says I, pausin’ in my wash, “where have I heard that before?”

“Well for gosh sakes,” pipes a high voice from the doorway, “if it ain’t my old friend Sam Smitz!”

I turns to view Fluffy McGoff, as blank-faced and balmy as ever, bearin’ down on me.

“Gee, but I’m glad to see you, Sam,” he clutches my drippin’ hand. “How did you know I was gonna to be on board?”

“I didn’t — it’s just one of them coinstances,” says I, backin’ away like from the edge of a precipice.

You see, me and this guy has met before. In fact, him and the ill health I’ve been havin’ is one and the same thing, and findin’ him right here in the same stateroom has knocked me cold.

“Listen,” I recovers somewhat, “how come you’re on this boat?”

“Oh, I had some good luck with a full pete up in Seattle,” he grins, “so I’m goin’ to Australia.”

“Not by some thousand miles you ain’t!” I snorts. “This boat is goin’ to Hawaii.”

“The devil it is! Now how’d I ever come to do that?” He removes his little Hooligan hat, and stands there blinkin’ and scratchin’ his wavin’ hair. “I did think some of goin’ to Hawaii, but then I decided I’d go to Australia, and—”

That’s him, Fluffy McGoff, the world’s dizziest burglar. Still he thinks me and him is born partners, and keeps turnin’ up like a plugged nickel no matter where I lose him. He’s goin’ to Australia, mind you, but he gets a ticket for Haw’aii, and here he is bunked in with me — can you tie that? Yep, me and Fate and this absentminded bozo is the infernal triangle for fair.

“You seem to be sittin’ pretty, yourself, Sam,” says he, grinnin’ at my shiny new bags. “While we’re both ridin’ the crest we’d oughta dope out some real high class job we can pull, huh?”

“Listen,” I snarls, at last findin’ my tongue, “you and me is roommates and no more. I wouldn’t ever ’a’ got on this ship if I’d known you was on it, and the only reason I’m stayin’ is because I ain’t the swimmer I used to be. But that ain’t goin’ to stop me throwin’ you overboard if I hears one word about us pullin’ any more jobs together. No hard feelin’s, Fluffy, but you and me is quits for all time. Now have you got that straight?”

“Well, for gosh sakes,” he complains. “It’s nothin’ to get sore about. I was only thinkin’ there’s probably a lotta money aboard, and—”

“Dry up,” says I, “and get outa them ice cream pants. On this ship you gotta dress for dinner.”

“Okay, Sam,” says he. That’s the sad part about Fluffy — outside them mental lapses of his he ain’t a bad guy. He’s generous and good-natured, and fond of me like a puppy. With a patient sigh he gets into his dinner clothes and we goes down to mess.

II

She’s a swell ship; a hundred fathoms long and I don’t know how much misplacement, with hot and cold water and all kind of built-in features from swimmin’ tanks to beauty shops. It’s my first voyage, except on ferry boats and lumber scows, and I takes to this palace like a duck to water.

I never went in much for sociabilities on shore, but out here things is different. Of course there’s some highbrows that’d start up a social register aboard a desert island, but for the most part everybody is congenial like one big family. I mixes in all the games, gets to callin’ guys by their first name, and it’s great. In fact, if it wasn’t for Fluffy McGoff I’d be havin’ the time of my life.

But you should get a load of that lummox. We ain’t been afloat twenty-four hours before he broaches me thus:

“Sam,” says he, “I don’t want to irritate you or nothin’, but maybe you ain’t noticed everybody has sealed his dough in a envelope and give it to this Mr. Purser, and he’s got it in a dinky safe in one of them offices off the big saloon. Now of course I didn’t lug nothin’ aboard with me that I couldn’t explain to the customs officers, but if we could borrow a drill and some stuff from the engine room, why—”

“Yeah, I’m ’way aheada you,” I bawls. “We could crack the safe, jump out the window into our high powered car and speed away. You ain’t in a hotel you know — you’re in the midst of the Pacific Ocean. There’s no way to pull anything big on board a ship and get away with it. Now make a note of that somewheres before you winds up in the brig.”

“Oh, all right, Sam,” he sighs. “Only I can’t help observin’ things, can I?”

He’s correct there. Crooks is as bad that way as the sailors that goes rowin’ on shore leave — they can’t get outa harness. I been takin’ careful stock of all the fellow passengers myself.

There is some interestin’ folks aboard, includin’ especially Mr. Bart Bodie, a tall, lean-faced gent with black hair, a long, sharp nose, and narrow eyes. He wears a black hat, dark double-breasted suits with the pockets sewed outside, and shaves twice a day. He’s got a slow, engagin’ smile and one of the parlor suites up top, and invites everybody to drop in on him. Which a lot of the boys does, provin’ a new crop is still comin’ up, one a minute.

Then there’s Pilsner, the pineapple prince, and Simpson, the sugar baron, besides a scatterin’ of bankers, movie people, and just plain idle rich. It’s a good mix, and I’m right in the swim, callin’ ’em Pete and Joe and Andy. It’s in this way I gets drawn up to Bodie’s parlor, the second day out.

Beside cocktails, which a friend named Harry keeps mixin’ with both hands, there’s a perpetual game of poker goin’ on there. Mr. Bodie, fulla clever gab and pale from too much shavin’ powder, is presidin’, and one by one the ship’s list is takin’ a ride.