"Aren't you going ashore?" asked Mr. Wesson, as he passed down the stairs to a rowboat, in which the Howes, "uncle" and "niece," and Edgerly were already seated.
Just then I heard my name called by a voice from an approaching skiff—my right name, this time.
"Camran!" came the voice. It was awkward, but I must try to explain it as an error, in case anybody noticed.
It was Edward Moron, agent of the line, whose acquaintance I had made in my former visit. I would have known his white helmet and Dundreary whiskers anywhere, but at the moment he was most inconvenient.
I waved my walking stick in reply, and as soon as he could get on board he grasped my hand. Excusing myself from Miss May for a moment, I followed him some steps away.
"Confound you!" I said, "my name is not Camran, but Camwell."
"It used to be 'Camran,' I'll take my oath to that," he replied. "But, whatever name it is, how are you? Going to stop here, I hope."
"Till evening," I answered, for I feared if I told him the truth he might tell it to other passengers, who would be sure to run across him. "Now, answer me a question. Is Eggert's place in quarantine?"
It was not, for which I was profoundly grateful. If I was to stay in St. Thomas at all I wanted to stay at the Quarantine Station, where I had been before—the only quarantine in the world where a man is happier inside than out.
I went to tell Miss May that we could go to Eggert's, and then to ask my stateroom steward to have my baggage brought on deck.