opened his mouth once) he said in English:  “Well. . . .  Good night, Captain Hermann.”  He stopped for a moment before my chair and looked down fixedly; I may even say he glared:  and he went so far as to make a deep noise in his throat.  There was in all this something so marked that for the first time in our limited intercourse of nods and grunts he excited in me something like interest.  But next moment he disappointed me—­for he strode away hastily without a nod even.

His manner was usually odd it is true, and I certainly did not pay much attention to it; but that sort of obscure intention, which seemed to lurk in his nonchalance like a wary old carp in a pond, had never before come so near the surface.  He had distinctly aroused my expectations.  I would have been unable to say what it was I expected, but at all events I did not expect the absurd developments he sprung upon me no later than the break of the very next day.

I remember only that there was, on that evening, enough point in his behaviour to make me, after he had fled, wonder audibly what he might mean.  To this Hermann, crossing his legs with a swing and settling himself viciously away from me in his chair, said:  “That fellow don’t know himself what he means.”

There might have been some insight in such a remark.  I said nothing, and, still averted, he added:  “When I was here last year he was just the same.”  An eruption of tobacco smoke enveloped his head as if his temper had exploded like gunpowder.

I had half a mind to ask him point blank whether he, at least, didn’t know why Falk, a notoriously unsociable man, had taken to visiting his ship with such assiduity.  After all, I reflected suddenly, it was a most remarkable thing.  I wonder now what Hermann would have said.  As it turned out he didn’t let me ask.  Forgetting all about Falk apparently, he started a monologue on his plans for the future:  the selling of the ship, the going home; and falling into a reflective and calculating mood he mumbled between regular jets of smoke about the expense.  The necessity of disbursing passage money for all his tribe seemed to disturb him in a manner that was the more striking because otherwise he gave no signs of a miserly disposition.  And yet he fussed over the prospect of that voyage home in a mail boat like a sedentary grocer who has made up his mind to see the world.  He was racially thrifty I suppose, and for him there must have been a great novelty in finding himself obliged to pay for travelling—­for sea travelling which was the normal state of life for the family—­from the very cradle for most of them.  I could see he grudged prospectively every single shilling which must be spent so absurdly.  It was rather funny.  He would become doleful over it, and then again, with a fretful sigh, he would suppose there was nothing for it now but to take three second-class tickets—­and there were the four children to pay for besides.  A lot of money that to spend at once.  A big lot of money.