hinese about the architecture of
the queer houses with the cranes projecting over their topmost windows.
There was nothing to be called beautiful, but it was all impressive and
interesting, because so different from that part of the world which we
know.

A gigantic railway bridge of latticed iron flung itself across the
skyline; one huge white building, like a New York sky-scraper, towered
head and shoulders above the close-leaning roofs of the city; and all
among the houses were brown sails and masts of ships; water-streets and
land-streets tangled inseparably together.

The hum of life--strange, foreign life!--filled the air; an
indescribable, exciting sound, made up of the wind whistling among
cordage of sea-going ships, the shouts of men at work, the river
slapping against piles and the iron sides of vessels, the whirr and
clank of steam-cranes. Wreaths of brown smoke blew gustily in the
sunlight; a train boomed across the latticed bridge; and the hoot of a
siren tore all other sounds in shreds. Creakily our ship was warped in
by straining cables, and I said to myself, "The overture's finished. The
play is going to begin."

Phil and I streamed off the boat with the other passengers, who had the
air of knowing exactly why they'd come, where they were going, and what
was the proper thing to do next. But as soon as we were landed on the
most extraordinary place, which looked as if trees and houses had
sprouted on a dyke, all consecutive ideas were ground out of our heads
in the mill of confusing sights and sounds. Friends were meeting each
other, and jabbering something which sounded at a distance like
Glasgow-English, and like no known language when you were close enough
to catch the words. Porters surged round us, urging the claims of rival
hotels; men in indigo cotton blouses pleaded for our luggage; and
altogether we were overwhelmed by a tidal wave of Dutchness.

How order finally came out of chaos I hardly know; but when I got my
breath it occurred to me that we might temporarily abandon our big
luggage and steer through the crowd, with dressing-bags in our hands, to
hail an elderly cab whose driver had early selected us as prey.

Before getting into the vehicle I paused, and tried to concentrate my
mind on plans; though the quaint picture of the Boompjes, and the
thought that _we_, Phyllis Rivers and Nell Van Buren, should be on the
Boompjes was distracting. I did manage, however, to find our boat's
addres