alongside the quay. He seemed to have already forgotten the hundred and
twenty men in the second-class cabin. His touch was indeed hopelessly
light. He understood how it was that the steamer was made to obey, but
he could not himself have brought her alongside. Cornish was a true son
of a generation which understands much of many things, but not quite
sufficient of any one.

He stood at the upper end of the gangway as the malgamite workers filed
off--a sorry crew, narrow-chested, hollow-eyed, with that
half-hopeless, half-reckless air that tells of a close familiarity with
disease and death. He nodded to them airily as they passed him. Some of
them took the trouble to answer his salutation, others seemed
indifferent. A few glanced at him with a sort of dull wonder. And
indeed this man was not of the material of which great philanthropists
are made. He was cheerful and heedless, shallow and superficial.

"Get 'em into the train," he said to an official at his side; and then,
seeing that he had not been understood, gave the order glibly enough in
another language.

The ill-clad travellers shuffled up the gangway and through the
custom-house. Few seemed to take an interest in their surroundings.
They exchanged no comments, but walked side by side in silence
--dumb and driven animals. Some of them bore signs of disease. A
few stumbled as they went. One or two were half blind, with groping
hands. That they were of different nationalities was plain enough. Here
a Jew from Vienna, with the fear of the Judenhetze in his eyes,
followed on the heels of a tow-headed giant from Stockholm. A cunning
cockney touched his hat as he passed, and rather ostentatiously turned
to help a white-haired little Italian over the inequalities of the