would fetch another thirty or so--enough to pay for a second-class
passage and leave a few pounds in her pocket. At the worst it would be a
change, and she could not go through more there than she did here, so
that very night she sat down and wrote to her clergyman cousin.




CHAPTER V.

THE R.M.S. KANGAROO.


It was on a Tuesday evening that a mighty vessel was steaming
majestically out of the mouth of the Thames, and shaping her imposing
course straight at the ball of the setting sun. Most people will remember
reading descriptions of the steamship Kangaroo, and being astonished at
the power of her engines, the beauty of her fittings, and the
extraordinary speed--about eighteen knots--which she developed in her
trials, with an unusually low expenditure of coal. For the benefit of
those who have not, however, it may be stated that the Kangaroo, "the
Little Kangaroo," as she was ironically named among sailor men, was the
very latest development of the science of modern ship-building.
Everything about her, from the electric light and boiler tubes up, was on
a new and patent system.

Four hundred feet and more she measured from stem to stern, and in that
space were crowded and packed all the luxuries of a palace, and all the
conveniences of an American hotel. She was a beautiful and a wonderful
thing to look on; as, with her holds full of costly merchandise and her