could understand the insane curiosity that impels people remaining at home to subject themselves to the most unpleasant feature of going abroad.”
“Meaning the crowd?” inquired Farnham.
“Yes,” replied the other, shortly, “the rabble, the deafening racket, the infernal discomfort of the whole business;” with which he turned abruptly and walked away as if not in the mood for further conversation.
Farnham, at complacent peace with himself and with the world, looked after him with good-humored surprise. He was a tallish man of powerful build, with a full brown beard and hair slightly marked with gray, exceedingly well dressed, and having the unmistakable bearing of a man of the world. By a momentary glimpse of his face as he turned away, Farnham saw that he had regular features, a dark complexion, and a certain self-contained expression that was not altogether prepossessing. As he disappeared in the crowd Farnham turned again and resumed his watch of the scene below.
At this moment the bell for “all ashore” was rung, and the crowd on the gangway began to resolve itself into a stream bound shoreward, occasionally broken by a belated passenger hurriedly making his way upward through the living tide. Then the stream dwindled to a few stragglers, and finally to the inevitable last man,
