He raved and tore his hair.  He ranted.  All to no avail.  There was, in plain American, “nothing doing!”

Damp but determined, he sought among the crowd for one who had bookings on the Saronia.  He could find, at first, no one so lucky; but finally he ran across Tommy Gray.  Gray, an old friend, admitted when pressed that he had a passage on that most desirable boat.  But the offer of all the king’s horses and all the king’s gold left him unmoved.  Much, he said, as he would have liked to oblige, he and his wife were determined.  They would sail.

It was then that Geoffrey West made a compact with his friend.  He secured from him the necessary steamer labels and it was arranged that his baggage was to go aboard the Saronia as the property of Gray.

“But,” protested Gray, “even suppose you do put this through; suppose you do manage to sail without a ticket—­where will you sleep?  In chains somewhere below, I fancy.”

“No matter!” bubbled West.  “I’ll sleep in the dining saloon, in a lifeboat, on the lee scuppers—­whatever they are.  I’ll sleep in the air, without any visible support!  I’ll sleep anywhere—­nowhere —­but I’ll sail!  And as for irons—­they don’t make ’em strong enough to hold me.”

At five o’clock on Thursday afternoon the Saronia slipped smoothly away from a Liverpool dock.  Twenty-five hundred Americans—­about twice the number the boat could comfortably carry—­stood on her decks and cheered.  Some of those in that crowd who had millions of money were booked for the steerage.  All of them were destined to experience during that crossing hunger, annoyance, discomfort.  They were to be stepped on, sat on, crowded and jostled.  They suspected as much when the boat left the dock.  Yet they cheered!

Gayest among them was Geoffrey West, triumphant amid the confusion.  He was safely aboard; the boat was on its way!  Little did it trouble him that he went as a stowaway, since he had no ticket; nothing but an overwhelming determination to be on the good ship Saronia.

That night as the Saronia stole along with all deck lights out and every porthole curtained, West saw on the dim deck the slight figure of a girl who meant much to him.  She was standing staring out over the black waters; and, with wildly beating heart, he approached her, not knowing what to say, but feeling that a start must be made somehow.

“Please pardon me for addressing—­” he began.  “But I want to tell you—­”

She turned, startled; and then smiled an odd little smile, which he could not see in the dark.

“I beg your pardon,” she said.  “I haven’t met you, that I recall—­”

“I know,” he answered.  “That’s going to be arranged to-morrow.  Mrs. Tommy Gray says you crossed with them—­”

“Mere steamer acquaintances,” the girl replied coldly.

“Of course!  But Mrs. Gray is a darling—­she’ll fix that all right.  I just want to say, before to-morrow comes—­”