he said, abruptly: "Mr. Triscoe, I wish you'd take the lower berth. I got
it at the eleventh hour by some fellow's giving it up, and it isn't as if
I'd bargained for it a month ago."

The elder man gave him one of his staccato glances in which Burnamy
fancied suspicion and even resentment. But he said, after the moment of
reflection which he gave himself, "Why, thank you, if you don't mind,
really."

"Not at all!" cried the young man. "I should like the upper berth better.
We'll, have the steward change the sheets."

"Oh, I'll see that he does that," said Mr. Triscoe. "I couldn't allow you
to take any trouble about it." He now looked as if he wished Burnamy
would go, and leave him to his domestic arrangements.




X.

In telling about himself Burnamy touched only upon the points which he
believed would take his listener's intelligent fancy, and he stopped so
long before he had tired him that March said he would like to introduce
him to his wife. He saw in the agreeable young fellow an image of his own
youth, with some differences which, he was willing to own, were to the
young fellow's advantage. But they were both from the middle West; in
their native accent and their local tradition they were the same; they
were the same in their aspirations; they were of one blood in their
literary impulse to externate their thoughts and emotions.