“Watkins,” said Bean distinctly, recalling the name that had revealed the fictitious and Hartford origin of It.

“Adams,” said the man, breaking off his song and tightening a leathery cheek for the razor.

“Adam’s apple,” said Bean, scornfully.  “Watkins!”

The man glanced at him and painfully twisted up a corner of his mouth while he applied the razor to the other corner.  But he did not speak.

“Think there’s a doctor on this little old steamer?” demanded Bean.

The man from Hartford laid down his weapon and began to lave his face.

“I believe,” he spluttered, “that medical attendance is provided for those still in mortal error.”

“’S’at so?” demanded Bean, sullenly.

The man achieved another bar of “The Holy City,” and fondly dusted his face with talcum powder, critically observing the effect.

“If you will go into the silence,” he at length said, “and there hold the thought of the all-good, you will be freed from your delusion.”

“Humph!” said Bean and turned his face from the Hartford man.

The latter locked his razor into a toilet-case, locked the toilet-case into a suit-case, and seemed to debate locking the suit-case into a little old steamer trunk.  Deciding, however, that his valuables were sufficiently protected, and that nothing was left out to excite the cupidity of a man to whom he had not been properly introduced, the person from Hartford went forth with a final retort.

“‘As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he!’”

“’S’at so?” said Bean insolently to the closed door.

He roused himself and descended precariously from his shelf.  Once upon his feet he was convinced that the ship was foundering.  He hurriedly dressed and adjusted a life-belt from one of a number he saw behind a rack.  Over the belt he put on a serviceable rain-coat.  It seemed to be the coat to wear.

[Illustration:  “Lumbago!” said Bean, both hands upon the life-belt]

Outside he plunged through narrow corridors until he came to a stairway.  He mounted this to be as far away from the ocean as possible.  He came out upon a deck where people were strangely not excited by the impending disaster.  Innocent children romped, oblivious to their fate, while callous elders walked the deck or reclined in little old steamer chairs.

He poised a moment, trying to prevent the steamer’s deck from mounting by planting one foot firmly upon it.  The device, sound enough in mechanical theory, proved unavailing.  The vast hulk sank alternately at either end, and to fearsome depths of the sea.  There would come a last plunge.  He tightened the life-belt.

Then, through the compelling force of associated ideas, there seemed to come to him the faint sweet scent of lilac blossoms ... the vision of a lilac clump revolving both vertically and horizontally ... the noisome fumes of Grammer’s own pipe.