He fished in his vest pocket, drew forth a black cigar which the electrical salesman had given to him on the train, and lighted it by a scratch of a match on the sole of his shoe.
It glowed, and cast his face in a ruddy prominence. A little old man, with a bundle, shrank against a ventilator and tried to merge with its shadow. Fay noticed this motion but saw no relation between it and his mission.
A touch on his arm denoted the commercial traveler who had been searching the ship for a companion.
“Muddy night,� he said, glancing at his own cigar. “Beastly wet for my samples, which I hope are below.�
Fay nodded. He drew down his cap, removed the cigar from his mouth, flecked off the gray ash, and studied the glowing end.
“Holland,� he asked, “is over there?� The cigar pointed like a pistol toward the starboard bow. It swung a point and steadied. It recoiled back into Fay’s mouth.
“Over there, yes,� said the commercial traveler. “We’ll dock at sun-up, if there is going to be a sun on this murky morning.�
Fay glanced at the man. A question revolved and took form as he waited for the boat to resume an even keel. “This new war?� he asked, “this
commercial thing which has come up? They say it’s going to be a whale of a task, for England.�
The salesman, whose samples consisted of a line of motors and rheostats, had been led straight upon his pet hobby. He was the forerunner of the horde who were to bring about the final triumph of the Allies over the Mittel nations. His companions swarmed in Mesopotamia, in Palestine, in Siberia, in the Balkans, and in the old markets of Holland and the North Countries.