“Toussaint,” Fuellenberg, who seemed to be fairly loaded with Berlin gossip, explained, “needs money.  He needs the money that his wife spends and the social season in Berlin swallows up.  He and his wife and his wife’s maid are all travelling free on his reputation.  When he lands in New York, he won’t have enough in his pocket even to pay his hotel bill for three days.”

Fuellenberg pointed out the sculptor, Toussaint.  He was lying in a steamer chair, rising and falling in unison with the Roland.  As Frederick turned to look at him, he noticed an odd man without arms being led across the deck by his attendant, who grasped him by his collar and carefully dragged him through a small door close by into the smoking-room.

“That man’s a vaudeville star,” Fuellenberg continued with his descriptive catalogue.  “He will appear in New York with Webster and Forster.”

Some stewards came oscillating across the deck to serve the chilly passengers with bowls of hot bouillon.  After Fuellenberg had seen to it that his lady was duly served, he deserted her and went with Frederick to the smoking-room.  Here, of course, loud talking and tobacco smoke prevailed.  The two gentlemen lit their cigars.  In one corner of the small room, some men were playing skat, and at several tables, German and English politics were being thrashed out.  The main theme of discussion was the rivalry between America and Europe.  Wilhelm, the ship’s doctor, with whom Frederick had become acquainted at breakfast, came in from his morning inspection of the steerage, and seated himself beside Frederick.

“There are two hundred Russian Jews emigrating to the United States or Canada,” he told him, “thirty Polish families, and about the same number of German families from the south, north, and east of Germany.  Altogether there are nearly four hundred steerage passengers, among them five babies at the breast and fifty children between the ages of one and fifteen.”

Doctor Wilhelm invited Frederick to accompany him the next day on his tour of inspection.  He was a man of not more than twenty-six.  He had a fair complexion and wore glasses.  His manner was somewhat stiff.  Ever since he had passed his examinations, two years before, he had been a physician on a vessel.  Once he had taken the trip to Japan, once to South America, and several times to the United States.  Frederick, of course, immediately thought of his dying friend, George Rasmussen, put his hand in his pocket, and presented his new colleague with Simon Arzt cigarettes.

The cigarettes furnished a starting-point to tell all about George Rasmussen; and when Doctor Wilhelm had learned everything about him, except his name, and then learned his name, too, the world again turned out to be a very small place.  Doctor Wilhelm was a friend of George Rasmussen’s.  They had studied together, one semester in Bonn and one semester in Jena, and had belonged to the same club in Jena.  The last few years they had even corresponded.  Naturally, the discovery instantly brought the two physicians closer.