trying to see if the world is really round. Got a job aboard that dock—going with her to Buenos Aires—Say, slow-boy, is that dory of yours anchored, or is it really coming this way?”
“Coomin' that way, sor!” wheezed the waterman from below.
“That's a coincidence,” observed the stranger, twirling his pale mustache. “I had a berth on her, too.” He indicated a huge English kit bag at his feet.
“Then you'd better get a move on if you're going!” snapped the American, instantly taking charge of the whole affair. “Shoot your grip here!” He stood ready to receive and deliver it to the boatman who had landed below.
“Had about decided not to go,” frowned the Briton with an odd change of manner. “It looks—er—so nasty over there—still, if you can endure it I suppose I—” the final phrase was lost in the swing at his big kit bag.
The American followed the luggage hurriedly; the tall fellow lowered himself calmly and with a certain precision into the stern of the dory. The boatman set out toward the gliding mass of iron.
