“Where you off to?” said one man to another just in front of Hildegarde.
“Goin’ to report to the authorities.”
“Report what?”
“The rat hole they’re askin’ me to sleep in.”
“Plenty o’ time. We ain’t goin’ to get off till to-morrer, anyway.”
“What! Why, we’re a week late a’ready.”
“Some of us’ll be later’n that. The authorities are goin’ to hold back a couple of hundred fur the next ship.”
“Who says so? I ain’t goin’ to wait.”
“Well”—he lowered his voice—“there’s inconvenient questions about over-crowdin’.”