THE PORTER. Was your wife expecting you to come on board here?

MR. ROBERTS. Well, no, not exactly. She was expecting me to meet her at
Boston. But I--[struggling to give the situation dignity, but failing,
and throwing himself, with self-convicted silliness, upon THE PORTER'S
mercy.] The fact is, I thought I would surprise her by joining her here.

THE PORTER (refusing to have any mercy). Oh! How did you expect to find
her?

MR. ROBERTS. Well--well--I don't know. I didn't consider. [He looks
down the aisle in despair at the close-drawn curtains of the berths, and
up at the dangling hats and bags and bonnets, and down at the chaos of
boots of both sexes on the floor.] I don't know _how_ I expected to find
her.

[MR. ROBERTS'S countenance falls, and he visibly sinks so low in his own
esteem and an imaginary public opinion that THE PORTER begins to have a
little compassion.]

THE PORTER. Dey's so many ladies on board _I_ couldn't find her.

MR. ROBERTS. Oh, no, no, of course not. I didn't expect that.

THE PORTER. Don't like to go routing 'em all up, you know. I wouldn't
be allowed to.

MR. ROBERTS. I don't ask it; that would be preposterous.

THE PORTER. What sort of looking lady was she?