k, cold mist that was half rain. The Old Gentleman
came to see Vandover off.

The steamer, which seemed gigantic, was roped and cabled to the piers,
feeling the water occasionally with her screw to keep the hawsers taut.
About the forward gangway a band of overworked stevedores were stowing
in the last of the cargo, aided by a donkey engine, which every now and
then broke out into a spasm of sputtering coughs. At the passenger
gangway a great crowd was gathered, laughing and exchanging remarks with
the other crowd that leaned over the railings of the decks.

There was a smell of pitch and bilge in the air mingled with the reek of
hot oil from the engines. About twelve o'clock an odour of cooking
arose, and the steward went about the decks drumming upon a snoring gong
for dinner.

Half an hour later the great whistle roared interminably, drowning out
the chorus of "good-byes" that rose on all sides. Long before it had
ceased, the huge bulk had stirred, almost imperceptibly at first, then,
gathering headway, swung out into the stream and headed for the Golden
Gate.

Vandover was in the stern upon the hurricane deck, shaking his hat
toward his father, who had tied his handkerchief to his cane and was
waving it at him as he stood upon an empty packing-case. As the throng
of those who were left behind dwindled away, one by one, Vandover could
see him standing there, almost the last of all, and long after the
figure itself was lost in the blur of the background he still saw the
tiny white dot of the handkerchief moving back and forth, as if spelling
out a signal to him across the water.

The fog drew a little higher as they passed down the bay. To the left
was the city swarming upon its hills, a dull gray mass, cut in parallel
furrows by the streets; straggling and uneven where it approached the
sand-dunes in the direction of the Presidio. To the right the long slope
of Tamalpais climbed up and was lost in the fog, while directly in front
of them was the Golden Gate, a bleak prospect of fog-drenched headlands
on either side of a narrow strip of yellow, frothy water. Beyond that,
the open Pacific.

A brisk cannonade was going on from the Presidio and from Black Point,
and both forts were hidden behind a great curtain of tumbling white
smoke that rolled up to mingle with the fog. Everybody was on that side
of the deck watching and making guesses as to the reason of it. It was
perhaps target practice. Ah, it was a good th