As I plodded along the narrow street with him, my sack propped on my shoulder, Captain Holstrom and his daughter passed me in a cab.
Mr. Keedy’s voice and manner were well padded with velvet that night, but he couldn’t fool me. He caged me—that’s what he did. I remember that I slept in a closet of a room, and, Mr. Keedy was on a cot in the room which opened into the hall. I didn’t mind any of his precautions. I had made up my mind to go along. I was dog-tired and slept all night.
XXVIII—SORTING THE CHECKER-BOARD CREW
MR. KEEDY evidently desired to impress on me that his hankering to make sure of my company during the night was inspired by pure and sudden friendship.
When he came to awaken me his mustache was lifted so high in an amiable smile that the twin sooty wings seemed to stick out of his nostrils. He hoped I was getting to like the West and the folks there. I returned that up to date I had not been homesick—a conservative statement, and true; I had had no time to be homesick.
He paid for my breakfast; further evidence of friendship. Then he called a cab and took me and my belongings down to the berth of the Zizania. The old steamer was docked in a place which, so he told me, was the China Basin, and we wormed our way through alleys and junk-piles and got aboard.
We hadn’t hurried that morning, and the time was well into the middle of the forenoon.
Captain Holstrom was stubbing to and fro on the main deck. He wore a fine air of proprietorship, and welcomed us with a flourish of his hand. He patted his breast, and the crackle of paper sounded.