"What did you come here for then," snapped he.
"For information," snapped I.
He saw that I was getting huffy so he pulled in his horns and said: "We can take you to Scotland in pretty good shape for twenty-seven dollars. You will have a good berth and the best of food, and we'll land you in Glasgow in less than ten days from the time you leave here. What do you say; shall I give you a ticket?"
I cogitated. The prospect looked good to me.
"Yes," said I impulsively, "give me a ticket!"
I gave him my name, as he requested, answered all the questions he put to me, and in a jiffy he had the ticket made out for me.
"What's the name of the ship I'm going to sail on?" asked I.
"The Furnessia," answered he, adding, "she will leave from the foot of West Twenty-fourth Street on Saturday morning at nine o'clock sharp. Be on hand at that time, or you'll get left."
"Don't you worry about me getting left," retorted I; "I'll be there all right."
Was I happy after I bought the ticket? I can't say that I was, for I wasn't at all positive whether I had better go. I didn't know what the old country would be like, so that visions of all kinds of trouble floated through my noddle, but faint heart never won a fair lady. I might as well be found dead in Europe as in any other place. What's the dif?