them are still ignorant and cling to the habits of their forefathers. But you won't find any cannibalism out there, I'll warrant you that."
"No, you won't find cannibals," put in a voice at Dan's elbow, and, as the youth turned, a tall, well-dressed gentleman caught him by the hand.
"Why, Dr. Barton!" cried Dan, and shook hands warmly. "What brings you here?"
"I am on a trip for pleasure and my health," replied the physician, who was well known in San Francisco, as I afterward learned. A few additional words passed, and then Oliver and I were introduced.
"And your name is Mark Carter," exclaimed the physician. "Of Stateroom No. 17?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then we are to be room-mates. I am glad to know you, Mr. Carter."
"And I am equally glad to know you, doctor," I smiled. "But don't call me mister yet, please—you'll make me feel too old."
A twinkle came into the doctor's eye. "All right; what shall I call you?"
"Mark."
"Very well, I'll mark that." And at this pun we all laughed, and it was not long before all of us felt thoroughly at home. Before the day was over I had voted Dr. Barton a prince of good fellows.
