eccentric."

"Tea."

"Here?"

"Here."

"I can serve it here, of course," said the captain, persuasively. "But
if you don't mind I should prefer to serve it in your state-room."

We reluctantly consented. The tea was well made and well served.

[Illustration: BREAKFAST EN ROUTE]

In an instant, as it seemed, we were crossing a dark river, on which
reposed several immense, many-storied river-steamers, brilliantly lit. I
had often seen illustrations of these craft, but never before the
reality. A fine sight-and it made me think of Mark Twain's incomparable
masterpiece, _Life on the Mississippi_, for which I would sacrifice the
entire works of Thackeray and George Eliot. We ran into a big town, full
of electric signs, and stopped. Albany! One minute late! I descended to
watch the romantic business of changing engines. I felt sure that
changing the horses of a fashionable mail-coach would be as nothing to
this. The first engine had already disappeared. The new one rolled
tremendous and overpowering toward me; its wheels rose above my head,
and the driver glanced down at me as from a bedroom window. I was
sensible of all the mystery and force of the somber monster; I felt the
mystery of the unknown railway station, and of the strange illuminated
city beyond. And I had a corner in my mind for the thought: "Somewhere