CHAPTER 3

THE START OF THE CRUISE

Dusk was already falling when the 9 p.m. Continental boat-train
pulled out of Charing Cross, with Seymour Merriman in the corner
of a first-class compartment. It had been a glorious day of clear
atmosphere and brilliant sunshine, and there was every prospect of
a spell of good weather. Now, as the train rumbled over the bridge
at the end of the station, sky and river presented a gorgeous color
scheme of crimson and pink and gold, shading off through violet
and gray to nearly black. Through the latticing of the girders the
great buildings on the northern bank showed up for a moment against
the light beyond, dark and somber masses with nicked and serrated
tops, then, the river crossed, nearer buildings intervened to cut
off the view, and the train plunged into the maze and wilderness
of South London.

The little pleasurable excitement which Merriman had experienced
when first the trip had been suggested had not waned as the novelty
of the idea passed. Not since he was a boy at school had he looked
forward so keenly to holidays. The launch, for one thing, would be
a new experience. He had never been on any kind of cruise. The
nearest approach had been a couple of days' yachting on the Norfolk
Broads, but he had found that monotonous and boring, and had been
glad when it was over. But this, he expected, would be different.
He delighted in poking about abroad, not in the great cosmopolitan
hotels, which after all are very much the same all the world over,