"Mr. Jocelyn Thew," Crawshay concluded.

"I mean that it was a pity you missed the boat, you and Hobson, wasn't
it? What was the weather like in Chicago?" "Hot," Crawshay replied.
"I was hotter there than I ever expect to be again in this world."

"A long, tiring journey, too, from Halifax."

"Not only that, sir," Crawshay agreed, "but a dirty journey. I like to
travel with the windows down--cold water and fresh air, you know, for
us English people--but the soft coal you burn in your engines is the
most appalling uncleanly stuff I have ever met."

"Still, you got here," Jocelyn reminded him.

"I got here," Crawshay agreed with an air of satisfaction.

"And you can take a bath three times a day, if you feel like it, on
board," Jocelyn continued. "I'm afraid you won't find much else
to do."

"One can never tell," Crawshay sighed. "I have started on ocean trips
sometimes which promised absolutely nothing in the way of
entertainment, and I have discovered myself, before the end of the
journey, thoroughly interested and amused."

"Nothing like looking on the bright side of things," Jocelyn observed.

Crawshay turned his head and contemplated his companion for a few
moments. Jocelyn Thew, notwithstanding his fine, slim figure, his