"Any letters, sir?"

"Any what?" cried Morris, suddenly waking up from his reverie.

"Any letters, sir, to go ashore with the pilot?"

"Oh, letters. No, no, I haven't any. You have a regular post-office on
board, have you? Mail leaves every day?"

"No, sir," replied the steward with a smile, "not _every_ day, sir. We
send letters ashore for passengers when the pilot leaves the ship. The
next mail, sir, will leave at Queenstown."

The steward seemed uncertain as to whether the passenger was trying to
joke with him or was really ignorant of the ways of steamships. However,
his tone was very deferential and explanatory, not knowing but that this
particular passenger might come to his lot at the table, and stewards
take very good care to offend nobody. Future fees must not be
jeopardized.

Being aroused, Mr. Morris now took a look around him. It seemed
wonderful how soon order had been restored from the chaos of the
starting. The trunks had disappeared down the hold; the portmanteaux
were nowhere to be seen. Most of the passengers apparently were in their
state-rooms exploring their new quarters, getting out their wraps,
Tam-o-Shanters, fore-and-aft caps, steamer chairs, rugs, and copies of
paper-covered novels. The deck was almost deserted, yet here and there a
steamer chair had already been placed, and one or two were occupied. The
voyage had commenced. The engine had settled down to its regular low