And at that moment the second mate, shouldering his way through a
white-clothed crowd of shore people, made up behind Señor Ramon. He held
a letter in his hand.

"I am going over," he said, in his high nasal voice, and with a certain
ferocity.

Ramon looked round apprehensively.

Carlos said, "The señor, my cousin, wishes for a Mr. Macdonald. You know
him, senor?"

Ramon made a dry gesture of perfect acquaintance. "I think I have seen
him just now," he said. "I will make inquiries."

All three of them had followed him, and became lost in the crowd. It
was then, not knowing whether I should ever see Carlos again, and with
a desperate, unhappy feeling of loneliness, that I had sought out Barnes
in the dim immensity of the steerage.

In the square of wan light that came down the scuttle he was cording his
hair-trunk--unemotional and very matter-of-fact. He began to talk in an
everyday voice about his plans. An uncle was going to meet him, and to
house him for a day or two before he went to the barracks.

"Mebbe we'll meet again," he said. "I'll be here many years, I think."

He shouldered his trunk and climbed unromantically up the ladder. He
said he would look for Macdonald for me.