ic steamers start about the
world like flying dreams. He heard the plash of fountains upon Mount
Ida's slopes, and the whisper of the tamarisk on Marathon. It was dawn
once more upon the Ionian Sea, and he smelt the perfume of the Cyclades.
Blue-veiled islands melted in the sunshine, and across the dewy lawns of
Tempe, moistened by the spray of many waterfalls, he saw--Great Heavens
above!--the dancing of white forms ... or was it only mist the sunshine
painted against Pelion?... "Methought, among the lawns together, we
wandered underneath the young grey dawn. And multitudes of dense white
fleecy clouds shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind...."

And then, into his stuffy room, slipped the singing perfume of a
wall-flower on a ruined tower, and with it the sweetness of hot ivy. He
heard the "yellow bees in the ivy bloom." Wind whipped over the open
hills--this very wind that laboured drearily through the London fog.

And--he was caught. The darkness melted from the city. The fog whisked
off into an azure sky. The roar of traffic turned into booming of the
sea. There was a whistling among cordage, and the floor swayed to and
fro. He saw a sailor touch his cap and pocket the two-franc piece. The
syren hooted--ominous sound that had started him on many a journey of
adventure--and the roar of London became mere insignificant clatter of a
child's toy carriages.

He loved that syren's call; there was something deep and pitiless in it.
It drew the wanderers forth from cities everywhere: "Leave your known
world behind you, and come with me for better or for worse! The anchor
is up; it is too late to change. Only--beware! You shall know curious
things--and alone!"

Henriot stirred uneasily in his chair. He turned with sudden energy to
the shelf of guide-books, maps and time-tables--possessions he most
valued in the whole room. He was a happy-go-lucky, adventure-loving
soul, careless of common standards, athirst ever for the new and
strange.

"That's the best of having a cheap flat," he laughed, "and no ties in
the world. I can turn the key and disappear. No one cares or knows--no
one but the thieving caretaker. And he's long ago found out that there's
nothing here worth taking!"

There followed then no lengthy indecision. Preparation was even shorter
still. He was always ready for a move, and his sojourn in cities was but
breathing-space while he gathered pennies for further wanderings. An
enormous kit-bag--sack-shaped,