Five girls were promenading the deck of one of our great Atlantic liners, on the last day of the trip. The report had gone out that they might expect to reach quarantine before five o’clock, but it would be too late to dock that night, therefore the captain had planned an evening’s entertainment for all on board. Miss Brewster! Miss Polly Brewster! Polly Brewster! came a call from one of the young boys of the crew who was acting as messenger for the wireless operator. Polly, he is calling you! I wonder what it is? cried Eleanor Maynard, Polly’s dearest friend. Here, boy! I am Polly Brewster, called Polly, waving her hand to call his attention to herself. Miss Polly Brewster? asked the uniformed attendant politely, lifting his cap. Yes.