bread that had no personality to it. He roved forlornly about
Portland, beside the gloomy pipe-valiant Morton, fighting two
fears: the company might not need all of them this trip, and he
might have to wait; secondly, if he incredibly did get shipped
and started for England the steers might prove dreadfully
dangerous. After intense thinking he ejaculated, "Gee! it's be
bored or get gored." Which was much too good not to tell Morton,
so they laughed very much, and at ten o'clock were signed on for
the trip and led, whooping, to the deck of the S.S. _Merian_.

Cattle were still struggling down the chutes from the dock. The
dirty decks were confusingly littered with cordage and the
cattlemen's luggage. The Jewish elders stared sepulchrally at
the wilderness of open hatches and rude passageways, as though
they were prophesying death.

But Mr. Wrenn, standing sturdily beside his suit-case to guard
it, fawned with romantic love upon the rusty iron sides of their
pilgrims' caravel; and as the _Merian_ left the wharf with no
more handkerchief-waving or tears than attends a ferry's leaving
he mumbled:

"Free, free, out to sea. Free, free, that's _me!_"

Then, "Gee!... Gee whittakers!"