osta. But the more powerful motive had been curiosity, not to say
downright sentiment. So long had he planned for this day of triumph,
so eagerly had he looked forward to it, that now, when it had come, he
wished to enjoy it to its fullest extent, wished to miss no feature of
the disposal of the crop. He had watched it harvested, he had watched it
hauled to the railway, and now would watch it as it poured into the hold
of the ship, would even watch the ship as she cleared and got under way.

He passed through the warehouses and came out upon the dock that ran
parallel with the shore of the bay. A great quantity of shipping was in
view, barques for the most part, Cape Horners, great, deep sea tramps,
whose iron-shod forefeet had parted every ocean the world round from
Rangoon to Rio Janeiro, and from Melbourne to Christiania. Some were
still in the stream, loaded with wheat to the Plimsoll mark, ready
to depart with the next tide. But many others laid their great flanks
alongside the docks and at that moment were being filled by derrick
and crane with thousands upon thousands of bags of wheat. The scene was
brisk; the cranes creaked and swung incessantly with a rattle of
chains; stevedores and wharfingers toiled and perspired; boatswains
and dock-masters shouted orders, drays rumbled, the water lapped at
the piles; a group of sailors, painting the flanks of one of the great
ships, raised an occasional chanty; the trade wind sang aeolian in the
cordages, filling the air with the nimble taint of salt. All around were
the noises of ships and the feel and flavor of the sea.

S. Behrman soon discovered his elevator. It was the largest structure
discernible, and upon its red roof, in enormous white letters, was his
own name. Thither, between piles of grain bags, halted drays, crates
and boxes of merchandise, with an occasional pyramid of salmon cases, S.
Behrman took his way. Cabled to the dock, close under his elevator, lay
a great ship with lofty masts and great spars. Her stern was toward him
as he approached, and upon it, in raised golden letters, he could read
the words "Swanhilda--Liverpool."

He went aboard by a very steep gangway and found the mate on the quarter
deck. S. Behrman introduced himself.

"Well," he added, "how are you getting on?"

"Very fairly, sir," returned the mate, who was an Englishman. "We'll
have her all snugged down tight by this time, day after to-morrow. It's
a great saving of time shunting