bottom of the companionway Frederick felt Hahlström tackle him, just as
he was about to mount to deck.

"Why, Mr. Hahlström, what a peculiar coincidence! It's as if the whole
of Berlin had agreed to emigrate to America!" Frederick exclaimed,
simulating surprise with somewhat forced liveliness.

"May I present Mr. Achleitner? Mr. Achleitner is an architect from
Vienna."

The man with the piercing eyes smiled with an air of interest, holding
fast to the brass balustrade to keep from being hurled against the wall.

The door of a rather gloomy saloon opened on the first landing. It bore
the misleading sign "smoking-room," misleading because the smokers never
used it, far preferring the cosey little saloon on deck. A brown
upholstered bench ran around the brown, wainscoted walls. Kneeling on the
bench one could look out through three or four port-holes upon the
seething and boiling of the waves. The entire floor space between the
benches was taken up by a table finished in a dark stain.

"This room is a horrid hole," said Hahlström. "It positively makes me
creepy."

A loud, trumpet-like, laughing voice called out from inside the room:

"I say, Hahlström, if this sort of weather holds out, neither your
daughter nor I will keep the first day of our engagement with Webster
and Forster. We're not even making eight knots. Perhaps I'll be able
to manage. A big dose of salt water doesn't hurt me. To-day is the