ause he's comin'! And you've got to look out, too! Right
of way! Common decency! They don't know the meanin' of it!"

I felt quite amused at his unwarranted choler, and while he stumped
indignantly up and down I fell to dwelling upon the romance of the fog.
And romantic it certainly was--the fog, like the grey shadow of infinite
mystery, brooding over the whirling speck of earth; and men, mere motes
of light and sparkle, cursed with an insane relish for work, riding their
steeds of wood and steel through the heart of the mystery, groping their
way blindly through the Unseen, and clamouring and clanging in confident
speech the while their hearts are heavy with incertitude and fear.

The voice of my companion brought me back to myself with a laugh. I too
had been groping and floundering, the while I thought I rode clear-eyed
through the mystery.

"Hello! somebody comin' our way," he was saying. "And d'ye hear that?
He's comin' fast. Walking right along. Guess he don't hear us yet.
Wind's in wrong direction."

The fresh breeze was blowing right down upon us, and I could hear the
whistle plainly, off to one side and a little ahead.

"Ferry-boat?" I asked.

He nodded, then added, "Or he wouldn't be keepin' up such a clip." He
gave a short chuckle. "They're gettin' anxious up there."

I glanced up. The captain had thrust his head and shoulders out of the
pilot-house, and was staring intently into the fog as though by sheer
force of will he could penetrate it. His face was anxious, as was the
face of my companion, who had stumped over to the rail and was gazing
with a like intentness in the direction of the invisible danger.

Then everything happened, and with inconceivable rapidity. The fog
seemed to break away as though split by a wedge, and the bow of a
steamboat emerged, trailing fog-wreaths on either side like seaweed on
the snout of Leviathan. I could see the pilot-house and a white-bearded
man leaning partly out of it, on his elbows. He was clad in a blue
uniform, and I remember noting how trim and quiet he was. His quietness,
under the circumstances, was terrible. He accepted Destiny, marched hand
in hand with it, and coolly measured the stroke. As he leaned there, he
ran a calm and speculative eye over us, as though to determine the
precise point of the collision, and took no notice whatever when our
pilot, white with rage, shouted, "Now you've done it!"

On looking back, I realize that the