of it upon
my shoes, grunting out a satisfaction with the job which I hardly shared.
A thin gentleman with furs, puzzle boxes, and other cheap-jack gear was
not much called upon though called at.

Two Englishmen came also, sellers of furs; one, of my own Division in
France. They were very warm in their praise of Buenos Aires, and besides
bringing good furs with them they brought good spirits.

Football flourished. In red-hot sunlight, we met the team of another ship.
Grim determination was in the game and its afterthoughts; and by a happy
accident my foot scored the first goal of our victory. It was counted
unto me for righteousness. The form of address "Passenger" acquired a
respectful significance. There was immediately arranged a return match. But

Antres et vous fontaines!

The hart desireth the waterbrooks; and so did we. Again, on such a
summer afternoon, we went at it, upon the field we had hired for the
ordeal. This time we lost, but still the blood of the team was up; the
_Bonadventure's_ fair name was in jeopardy. Again there was immediately
arranged a return match for the following evening. We lost, and it was
hotter still. This nevertheless cooled the ardour of the footballers,
and did not finally ruin the reputation of S.S. _Bonadventure_.

The evening form of this game continued upon the original ground, but my
connection, like Mead's, soon declined. The main cause was that the ball,
or Ball--its importance aboard requires the capital letter--flew off one
evening as usual into the dock, but there by some conspiracy of wind
and current sailed along at a merry rate until it was carried under the
framework of piers upon which the coal wharf was built--a noisome place,
a labyrinth of woodwork. If it stayed here, it was generally out of
sight and beyond reach; if it was swirled out, it would go on out, into
the middle stream, and doubtless into the Atlantic. We groped along the
filthy piles of the tunnel, and the darkness was imminent; when the
ball suddenly appeared, decidedly going out into the middle stream. At
this crisis, Mead with a war-cry plumped into the evil-looking water and
brought off a notable rescue.

Cricket would have seemed the more seasonable sport. Twice Mead and
myself joined the Mission XI for grand matches in the suburbs, and said
to ourselves, "In the midst of football we are in cricket"; but twice
we met with disappointment, the rain choosing the wrong days altogether.

I had