“Just take a look here, Doctor von Kammacher,” he said, opening a door nearby, through which one could look into a deep, square pit filled half way up to the top with thousands of packages of all sizes.  “Mr. Rinck has to arrange all of these.”

“Exclusive of the letters,” Mr. Rinck supplemented phlegmatically.

“Theridium triste,” thought Frederick.  He seemed to himself like an ant trying head over heels to escape the spell of the little spider, whose golden cobweb in long, open strands was luring on its victims.

“That Rinck,” said Wilhelm, as they resumed their promenading, “is a peculiar sort of chap.  It is worth the while to get to know him.  Twenty years ago he suffered hard luck from a woman of the same type as little Miss Hahlstroem.  Men should never marry women of that type.  Ever since, he has been indifferently facing every sort of death on all the waters of the globe, not to mention an attempt at suicide.  You ought to hear him talk.  It is very difficult to get him to do it, because he doesn’t drink.  You can’t succeed until you have been on four or five trips with him.  People speak a great deal of fatalism, but to most of them the idea is merely a paper idea.  To Rinck it is not a paper idea.”

The life on deck kept assuming a more and more unconcerned, mundane aspect.  Frederick was astonished to see so many persons from Berlin whom he knew by sight.  Professor Toussaint introduced himself, and led Frederick to his wife, who was lying stretched out in a steamer chair.  Their attempt at what is called conversation resulted in a few sickly sprouts.

“I am making this trip at the invitation of an American friend,” Toussaint explained somewhat condescendingly, and mentioned the name of a well-known millionaire.  “Even if I receive orders over there, I will not allow myself to be persuaded into making America my home.  Interest in art should be elevated—­” The pale, aristocratic man with the care-worn expression went on to expatiate upon his hopes and troubles, while his wife, who was still beautiful, looked on with a blase expression of irony.  Probably without being conscious of it, Professor Toussaint too frequently referred to the United States as the dollar land.

On the after-deck the passengers in unrestrained jollity, had begun to dance.  It was Hans Fuellenberg, the ever vivacious Berlinese, who had taken the lead.  Inspired by the Strauss waltz that the band was playing he had engaged the lady in the fur coat.  A number of other couples followed their example, and there, under the bright sky, an informal ball was opened, which did not end until sundown.

When the musicians with their shining brass instruments were about to make their way inconspicuously below deck, the passengers detained them, and in the twinkling of an eye, a large collection was taken up.  Thereupon the dance music began again, even blither than before.

XXVI