—— ——,
American Consular Agent.
A letter giving the company the right to sell me a ticket that it would have been delighted to sell to any sort of man or ape that had the money! It was of no value whatever.
Caring nothing for the rain, I sat down against a pillar outside the office. Only four miserable francs rattled in my pocket. I now saw that I would have to spend long, penniless days on the Jaffa beach. The loading and unloading of the steamer were still going on. Boatmen were struggling to row across the mountain-like waves. Now and then a giant billow overturned a freight-filled rowboat high on the beach. Barefooted natives waded into the surf with tourists in their arms. Each warning whistle seemed to thrust Egypt farther and farther away. If only—
I felt a tap on the shoulder. A young native in the uniform of the ship’s company was bending over me.
“Go on board anyway,” he advised me.
“Eh?” I cried.
“The captain is English. If you are a sailor he will give you work.”
“But I can’t get on board,” I answered.
For reply the native pointed to his company’s boat, loaded with baggage and mails, at the edge of the wharf. I snatched up my belongings and dropped into it.