"They are eight hundred feet long," he said, "and limited to
three hundred passengers. Of course there's the crew and stewards
besides. The crossing varies from thirty-six to forty-eight
hours. . . . Yes, transhipments are sometimes made during the
voyage; but it's not usual. It involves a good deal of delay."

Monsignor listened as the talk went on, gathering a few facts here
and there--the topographical reasons why Queenstown was still
retained, as in the days of the old steamships, for a principal
port, in spite of the transformation of Ireland; the total weight
of the boats when the gas was out of them; above all, the
incredible speed that could be attained and kept up, with a good
following wind. He learned also how, by the very rigid laws of
air-way, enforced now by all nations under very heavy penalties,
the danger of collisions was practically abolished; and so forth.
The canon talked fluently and well; but the mass of new
information was so great, and the interest of watching so intense,
that the enquirer's attention wandered a good deal.

He was watching the crowd of emigrants, two hundred feet below on
the ground, seen through the spidery framework of the stage,
railed off into a circle, surrounded by barriers that kept out
the onlookers, and diminishing visibly as he watched, as the full
platform flew up to the embarking stage just below where he stood
and the empty platforms descended again. The murmur of talking
came up to him like the buzz of a hive.

He understood that he was assisting at an historical event. For
to-day practically marked, in England at any rate, the practical