proprietress the carriage ridded. He led the way to the steamer, deposited
his burdens and saw to the bestowal of others, fetched a chair, wrapped
her in rugs, found her book, indicated her whereabouts to a mariner in
case of need. All this leisurely done, in the way of a man who has
privilege and duty for his warrants. Enquiring then, with an engaging lift
of the eyebrows, whether she was perfectly comfortable, and receiving with
a pleasant nod her answering nod of thanks, he left her and returned to
the train. Tracked through the crowd, and easily by his height, bare head,
and leisurely motions, he was next seen shouldering a canvas bag on his
way back to the boat. Jack's belongings, his bag of tricks; Jack all over,
the same inexhaustible Jack! It was delightful to our traveller to find
Jack Senhouse thus verifying himself at every turn. He was for the
steerage, it appears--and of course he was!--where depressed foreigners
share with bicycles, motor cars, and newly boiled pigs the amenities of
economical travel. In this malodorous and slippery well his interested
friend saw him sit down upon his bundle, roll a cigarette, and fall into
easy conversation with an Italian voyager who, having shaved, was now
putting on a clean collar and a tartan necktie.

The traveller, Mr. William Chevenix, who had watched him so long, a well-
dressed and cheerful Englishman of some five-and-thirty summers, with
round eyes in a round and rosy face, now assuring himself that he would be
damned if he didn't have it out with the chap, descended the companion,
picked his way through the steerage, and approached the seated
philosopher. He saw that he was known, and immediately. Nothing escaped
Senhouse.

"How d'ye do, how d'ye do?" He held out his hand. Senhouse rose and
grasped it. The Italian took off his hat, and strolled away.