The canting phrases wearied Kirkwood; abruptly he cut in. "Would a
sovereign help you out, Mr. Calendar? I don't mind telling you that's about
the limit of my present resources."

"Pardon _me_." Mr. Calendar's moon-like countenance darkened; he assumed a
transparent dignity. "You misconstrue my motive, sir."

"Then I'm sorry."

"I am not here to borrow. On the other hand, quite by accident I discovered
your name upon the register, down-stairs; a good old Frisco name, if you
will permit me to say so. I thought to myself that here was a chance
to help a fellow-countryman." Calendar paused, interrogative; Kirkwood
remained interested but silent. "If a passage across would help you, I--I
think it might be arranged," stammered Calendar, ill at ease.

"It might," admitted Kirkwood, speculative.

"I could fix it so that you could go over--first-class, of course--and pay
your way, so to speak, by, rendering us, me and my partner, a trifling
service."

"Ah?"

"In fact," continued Calendar, warming up to his theme, "there might be
something more in it for you than the passage, if--if you're the right man,
the man I'm looking for."

"That, of course, is the question."