such surmise. I waited until the doors banged and
the train was moving before I said, "In what way, Mr. Carville?"

"Mind you, it may not impress you in any way like Venice----"

"I regret never to have been there," I interrupted.

"You may," he assented. "You may. A man can do easy enough without ever
seeing Naples; but Venice----ah!"

"Yes, I can imagine that," I said, "but in what way----?"

"Well, I'll show you, as you're going to St. George--_San Giorgio_ as
you might say"--he chuckled--"and you can tell me what you think."

I fell into a study at this, a study that lasted until the train slid
slowly into Jersey City and we joined the throng that were hurrying
towards Chambers Street Ferry. I decided to let the matter stand over
for the moment. It would not do to act illiberally towards a man who
combined a knowledge of seafaring with Italian literature, and who had
evidently arrived, however unacademically, at certain original judgments
and criteria of life. I offered no remarks as the Erie ferry bore us
swiftly across the glittering and congested Hudson to Chambers Street,
and I observed that Mr. Carville was absorbed in watching how the vessel
was piloted among the traffic. It was natural that his imagination
should be stirred by a familiar skill. As we crossed the bows of an
incoming liner I saw his eyes sweep over her, keen, critical,
appraising. No doubt he saw many things that escaped my landward vision.
For me ships are very much alike. I expect he realized this and forbore
to bewilder me with matters of technical interest. I have a sneaking
appreciation of the mystery and beauty of a ship in full sail on the
open sea, an appreciation I scarcely cared to reveal to an engineer. He
stood by my side on the upper deck, his corn-cob in his hand,
imperturbably observant, a miracle of detached respectability. And he
thought New York like Venice!

Nor did we talk very much as we walked quickly down West Street to the
Battery. Once he looked at his watch and remarked that he wanted "to be
aboard by ten." The sun shone on the water dazzlingly as we rounded the
end of Manhattan, showing the hull of the Ellis Island ferry a black
mass. The usual crowd of foreigners with their dark eyes and Slavic
features, shoe-shine boys, touts and officials waited around the
entrance. I put my hand on Mr. Carville's arm.

"Our steamer isn't in yet," I said. "Suppose we see them land."

He glanced up and nodded, and we paused