h. You're the third person he's bitten
to-day." She kissed the animal in a loving and congratulatory way on the
tip of his black nose. "Not counting waiters at the hotel, of course,"
she added. And then she was swept from him in the crowd, and he was left
thinking of all the things he might have said--all those graceful,
witty, ingratiating things which just make a bit of difference on these
occasions.

He had said nothing. Not a sound, exclusive of the first sharp yowl of
pain, had proceeded from him. He had just goggled. A rotten exhibition!
Perhaps he would never see this girl again. She looked the sort of girl
who comes to see friends off and doesn't sail herself. And what memory
of him would she retain? She would mix him up with the time when she
went to visit the deaf-and-dumb hospital.

Sec. 2

Sam reached the gang-plank, showed his ticket, and made his way through
the crowd of passengers, passengers' friends, stewards, junior officers,
and sailors who infested the deck. He proceeded down the main
companion-way, through a rich smell of india-rubber and mixed pickles,
as far as the dining saloon; then turned down the narrow passage leading
to his state-room.

State-rooms on ocean liners are curious things. When you see them on the
chart in the passenger-office, with the gentlemanly clerk drawing rings
round them in pencil, they seem so vast that you get the impression
that, after stowing away all your trunks, you will have room left over
to do a bit of entertaining--possibly an informal dance or something.
When you go on board, you find that the place has shrunk to the
dimensions of an undersized cupboard in which it would be impossible to
swing a cat. And then, about the second day out, it suddenly expands
again. For one reason or another the necessity for swinging cats does
not arise, and you find yourself quite comfortable.

Sam, balancing himself on the narrow, projecting ledge which the chart
in the passenger-office had grandiloquently described as a lounge, began
to feel the depression which marks the second phase. He almost wished
now that he had not been so energetic in having his room changed in
order to enjoy the company of his cousin Eustace. It was going to be a
tight fit. Eustace's bag was already in the cabin, and it seemed to take
up the entire fairway. Still, after all, Eustace was a good sort, and
would be a cheerful companion. And Sam realised that if the girl with
the red hair was not a