I felt quite amused at his unwarranted choler, and while he stumped
indignantly up and down I fell to dwelling upon the romance of the
fog. And romantic it certainly was--the fog, like the grey shadow
of infinite mystery, brooding over the whirling speck of earth; and
men, mere motes of light and sparkle, cursed with an insane relish
for work, riding their steeds of wood and steel through the heart
of the mystery, groping their way blindly through the Unseen, and
clamouring and clanging in confident speech the while their hearts
are heavy with incertitude and fear.

The voice of my companion brought me back to myself with a laugh.
I too had been groping and floundering, the while I thought I rode
clear-eyed through the mystery.

"Hello! somebody comin' our way," he was saying. "And d'ye hear
that? He's comin' fast. Walking right along. Guess he don't hear
us yet. Wind's in wrong direction."

The fresh breeze was blowing right down upon us, and I could hear
the whistle plainly, off to one side and a little ahead.

"Ferry-boat?" I asked.

He nodded, then added, "Or he wouldn't be keepin' up such a clip."
He gave a short chuckle. "They're gettin' anxious up there."

I glanced up. The captain had thrust his head and shoulders out of
the pilot-house, and was staring intently into the fog as though by
sheer force of will he could penetrate it. His face was anxious,