The attendant, regarding with a critical eye the modest attire and unassuming demeanour of “Cobbler” Horn, inwardly agreed with what this somewhat eccentric passenger had said.
“The only way, sir,” said the man, at length, “is to get some one to change with you.”
“Ah, the very thing! How can it be managed?”
The attendant mused with hand on chin.
“Well, sir,” he said, gliding into an interrogative tone, “if you really mean it——?”
“Most certainly I do.”
“Then I think I can arrange it for you, sir. There is one second-class passenger who would probably jump at such a chance. He is an invalid; and it would be a great comfort to him to get into such quarters as these. I’ve heard a good bit about him since he came on board.”
“Then he’s our man,” said “Cobbler” Horn; and then, he added hesitatingly, “there’ll be a sovereign for you, if you manage it at once. I’ll wait here till you let me know.”
The attendant sped on his errand, and, before night, the desired exchange had been duly made—“Cobbler” Horn was established in the comfortable and congenial accommodation afforded by a second-class cabin, and the invalid passenger was blessing his unknown benefactor, as he sank to rest amidst the luxury of his new surroundings.
It was late autumn, and the sea, though not stormy, was sufficiently restless to make the commencement of the passage unpleasant for all who were not good sailors. “Cobbler” Horn was not one of these; and, when, upon the second day out, he observed the deserted appearance of the decks and saloons, and, on making enquiry of an official, learnt that most of the passengers were sick, he realized with a healthy and grateful thrill of pleasure, that he was blessed with immunity from the almost universal tribulation which waylays the landsman who ventures on the treacherous deep.