THE STOWAWAYS
On the Sunday, among a party of men who were talking in our
companion, Steerage No. 2 and 3, we remarked a new figure. He wore
tweed clothes, well enough made if not very fresh, and a plain
smoking-cap. His face was pale, with pale eyes, and spiritedly
enough designed; but though not yet thirty, a sort of blackguardly
degeneration had already overtaken his features. The fine nose had
grown fleshy towards the point, the pale eyes were sunk in fat. His
hands were strong and elegant; his experience of life evidently
varied; his speech full of pith and verve; his manners forward, but
perfectly presentable. The lad who helped in the second cabin told
me, in answer to a question, that he did not know who he was, but
thought, 'by his way of speaking, and because he was so polite, that
he was some one from the saloon.'
I was not so sure, for to me there was something equivocal in his air
and bearing. He might have been, I thought, the son of some good
family who had fallen early into dissipation and run from home. But,
making every allowance, how admirable was his talk! I wish you could
have heard hin, tell his own stories.
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