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Updated: May 7, 2025
That's my name, you know, Chancy De Benville always game to take a chance. Is that your yacht?" "No. My father and I are merely passengers." "So you trailed the old skeezicks along with you? Well, that's right. Make the most of your father while you've got him. If I'd paid more attention to mine I'd have been better off now. But I was wild."
As she did not answer, he ran on, glibly: "My name is De Benville I'm one of the New Orleans branch. That's my cannery down yonder." He pointed in the direction from which he had just come. "Indeed!" said the young lady. "Yes. It's mine." A wrinkle gathered at the corners of the stranger's eyes; her face showed a flicker of amusement. "I thought that was Mr. Emerson's cannery," she said.
"I couldn't stand the exposure." "They were cold, eh?" "Yep! They weathered me out." "Did you really meet any of those people?" "Sure! I met 'em all, but I didn't catch their names. I 'made' one before I'd gone a mile tall, slim party, with cracked ice in her voice." Boyd looked up quickly. "Did you introduce yourself?" "As Chancy De Benville, that's all. How is that for a drawing-room monaker?
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