cigarette in a gesture which expressed the ineffectiveness of
the adjective.

"Yes, very," said Carlton. "Good-night, sir."

He turned, and leaned with both elbows on the rail, and looked
out at the misty banks, puffing at his cigar. Then he dropped
it hissing into the water, and, stifling a yawn, looked up and
down the length of the deserted deck. It seemed particularly
bare and empty.

"What a pity she's engaged!" Carlton said. "She loses so much
by it."

They steamed slowly into the harbor of the Piraeus at an early
hour the next morning, with a flotilla of small boats filled
with shrieking porters and hotel-runners at the sides. These
men tossed their painters to the crew, and crawled up them
like a boarding crew of pirates, running wildly about the
deck, and laying violent hands on any piece of baggage they
saw unclaimed. The passengers' trunks had been thrown out in
a heap on the deck, and Nolan and Carlton were clambering over
them, looking for their own effects, while Miss Morris stood
below, as far out of the confusion as she could place herself,
and pointed out the different pieces that belonged to her. As
she stood there one of the hotel-runners, a burly, greasy
Levantine in pursuit of a possible victim, shouldered her
intentionally and roughly out of the way. He shoved her so
sharply that she lost her balance and fell back against the
rail. Carlton saw what had happened, and made a flying leap