It was pretty sensible, I thought, as I read it over; a sort of medium between the cold tone of an ordinary employer and the unrestrained ardor of a happy boy. I was glad, however, to get out of doors and breathe the frosty air, for my temperature was still excessive. At Cook's I learned that several new names had been booked, and that there would soon be no more room, as things were going.
"I have given Mr. Wesson the upper berth in your room, subject to your approval," added the clerk. "He has a positive dread of bunking with an absolute stranger and he says you made him a conditional promise."
"That's all right," I said, pleased at the news. "I am sure we shall get along together finely. You may register the berth in the opposite room, that you have reserved for me, in the name of 'Miss M. May.' I have finally prevailed upon my cousin to go."
While he was entering the name, I wrote a check for the balance, upon receiving which the clerk handed me the tickets, from New York to St. Thomas.
"Hadn't you better book for the entire cruise?" he asked. "I don't believe you will care to remain at St Thomas longer than the day the Madiana is to be there."
"Oh, yes, I shall," I answered. "I stayed on the island three weeks the last time, and found it delightful. Probably I shall join some of your later cruises, but I must go unhampered."
"Supposing when you are ready to take one of the other boats you find every cabin full?" he asked, in a good-natured way.
"That's a risk I must run. The Royal Mail comes every fortnight, and there are three or four steamers a week, of one kind or another, at St. Lucia. There are ways enough to keep moving and I am unlimited as to time."
"Well, if I don't see you again," he said, with that affability that only one of Cook & Son's clerks can assume, "I wish you a very pleasant voyage."
"I am sure to have that," I replied.