along the gangway.

It seemed to me that the porter was rather tottery, owing perhaps to a
lengthy absorption of vodka.

"Wait a bit!" shouted Ephrinell. Then in good Russian, so as to be
better understood, he shouted:

"Look out! Look out!"

It is good advice, but it is too late. The porter has just made a false
step. The case slips from his shoulders, falls--luckily over the rail
of the _Astara_--breaks in two, and a quantity of little packets of
paper scatter their contents on the deck.

What a shout of indignation did Ephrinell raise! What a whack with his
fist did he administer to the unfortunate porter as he repeated in a
voice of despair: "My teeth, my poor teeth!"

And he went down on his knees to gather up his little bits of
artificial ivory that were scattered all about, while I could hardly
keep from laughing.

Yes! It was teeth which Strong, Bulbul & Co., of New York made! It was
for manufacturing five thousand cases a week for the five parts of the
world that this huge concern existed! It was for supplying the dentists
of the old and new worlds; it was for sending teeth as far as China,
that their factory required fifteen hundred horse power, and burned a
hundred tons of coal a day! That is quite American!