verything's just about full up."

"I understand; but still you can make room for me somewhere, I hope."

"Oh, yes. Quite so, indeed. It's only a question of what you'd like. Now
we have a _cabine de luxe_--"

"Not for me," said Staff firmly.

"Then-Q.... The only other accommodation I can offer you is a two-berth
stateroom on the main-deck."

"An outside room?"

"Yes, sir. You can see for yourself. Here it is: berths 432 and 433.
You'll find it quite cosy, I'm sure."

Staff nodded, eyeing the cubicle indicated by the pencil-point.

"That'll do," said he. "I'll take it."

"Then-Q. Upper'r lower berth, sir?"

"Both," said Staff, trying not to look conscious--and succeeding.

"Both, sir?"--in tones of pained expostulation.

"Both!"--reiterated in a manner that challenged curiosity.

"Ah," said the clerk wearily, "but, you see, I thought I understood you
to say you were alone."

"I did; but I want privacy."

"I see. Then-Q."--as who should say: _Another mad Amayrican_.

With this the clerk took himself off to procure a blank ticket.

While he waited, Staff was entertained by snatches of a colloquy at the
far end of the counter, where the other patron was being catechised as
to his pedigree by the other booking-clerk. What he heard ran something
to the following effect:

"What did you say the name was, sir?"

"_The_ name?"

"If you please--"

"What name?"

"Your name, sir."

"I didn't say, did I?"

"No, sir."

"Ah! I thought not."

Pause; then the clerk, patiently: "Do you mind giving me your name, sir,
so that I may fill in your ticket?"

"I'd r'ally rather not; but seein' as it's you and you make a point of
it--Iff."

Pause.... "Beg pardon?"

"Iff."

"If what, sir?"

"I-double-F, Iff: a name, not a joke. I-F-F--William Howard Iff. W. H.
Iff, Whiff: joke."

"Ow-w?"

"But you needn't laugh."

With dignity: "I was not intending to laugh, sir."

Staff could hardly refrain from refreshing himself with a glance at the
individual so singularly labelled. Appraising him covertly, he saw a man
whose stature was quite as much shorter than the normal as his own was
longer, but hardly less thin. Indeed, Staff was in the habit of defining
his own style of architecture as Gothic, and with reasonable excuse; but
reviewing the physical geography of Mr. Iff, the word _emaciation_
bobbed to the surface of the literary mentality: Iff was really
astonishingly slight of build. Otherwise he was r