eard the gruff voice of the cabby.

"What about my fare?"

"Your fare?"

He had forgotten. He reached in his pocket and drew out a roll of
bills, thrusting them into the grimy hands of the man without looking
at them.

"Now get out," he ordered.

Wilson watched the fading hulk until it was lost in the tangle of
other shipping. Then he tried to hold the line of black smoke
which it left in its wake. When that finally blended with the smoke
from other funnels which misted into the under surface of the blue
sky, he turned about and stared wearily at the jumble of buildings
which marked the city that was left. The few who had come on a
like mission dispersed,--sucked into the city channels to their
destinations as nickel cash boxes in a department store are flashed
to their goals. Wilson found himself almost alone on the pier.
There was but one other who, like himself, seemed to find no interest
left behind by the steamer. Wilson merely glanced at him, but soon
looked back, his interest excited by something or other in the
man's appearance. He was no ordinary looking man--a certain heavy,
brooding air relieved of moroseness by twinkling black eyes marked him
as a man with a personality. He was short and thick set, with shaggy,
iron-gray eyebrows, a smooth-shaven face speckled on one side as by a
powder scar. Beneath a thin-lipped mouth a stubborn chin protruded.
He was dressed in a flannel shirt and corduroy trousers, fastened by
a black belt. He had the self-sufficient air of the sailor or
miner, which is developed by living a great deal apart from other
men. It seemed to Wilson that the man was watching him, too, with
considerable interest. Every now and then he removed the short clay
pipe which he was smoking and covered a half circle with his eyes
which invariably included Wilson. Finally he lounged nearer and a few
minutes later asked for a match.

Wilson, who was not much given to forming chance acquaintanceships,
was at first inclined to be suspicious, and yet it was he who made the
next advance, prompted, however, by his eagerness for information.

"Do you know anything about sailing lines to South America?" he
asked.

The older man removed his pipe. Wilson thought he looked a bit
startled--a bit suspicious at the question.

"What port?" he asked.

It occurred to Wilson that it might be just as well not to divulge his
real destination. The only other South American port he could think of
was Rio Janei