possible vessel and munching the food with a growing wonder as to whether
I should ever return to the happy home wherein it was prepared.

There I sat until sunset, and it was the latest sunset I have ever
observed. With dusk descending over the lonely ocean, I returned in
silence to Hawkins.

He was in bounding spirits. He chattered incessantly about the trip,
planned a lecture tour--"Across the Atlantic in Forty Hours"--formed a
stock company to manufacture his motor, offered me the London agency at
an incredible salary, and built a stately mansion just off Central Park
with his own portion of the proceeds.

Having babbled himself dry, Hawkins informed me that salt air invariably
made him sleepy, and crawled into the cabin for slumber.

And he slept. It passed my understanding, but the man had such utter
confidence in himself and his unintentional trip that he snored peacefully
throughout the night.

I didn't. I felt that my last hours in the land of the living should be
passed in consciousness, and I spent that terrible time of darkness in
more or less prayerful meditation.

After ages, the dawn arrived. I lit another cigar, and wriggled wearily
to the bow of the boat and scanned the waters.

There was a vessel! Far, far away, to be sure, but steaming so that we
must cross her path in another fifteen minutes.