It was very provoking to think that he could not even telegraph, as that would relieve all anxiety, and he felt sure that Florence was enough his friend to feel anxious about him.
He had just closed up his valise, when a young man of dark complexion and of an attractive, intellectual expression, entered the cabin.
He nodded pleasantly to Dodger, and said:
“I suppose this is Arthur Grant?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Dodger, for he had decided to adopt the name.
“We ought to become close friends, for we are, I believe, the only passengers.”
“Then you are a passenger, too?” said Dodger, deciding, after a brief scrutiny, that he should like his new acquaintance.
“Yes. My name is Randolph Leslie. I have been, for the last five years, a reporter on leading New York daily papers, and worked so closely that my health has become somewhat affected. My doctor recommended a sea voyage, and I have arranged for a pretty long one.”
“What papers have you worked for?”
“Oh, all the leading ones—Tribune, World, Herald, and Sun—sometimes one, and sometimes another. Your reason for taking this trip can hardly be the same as mine. You don’t look as if your health required you to travel.”