“Yes, my dear sir,” said the purser, after having looked rapidly over his list, “you have No. 18 to yourself.”
“So I told the man who is unpacking his luggage there; but he showed me his ticket, and it was issued before mine. I can’t quite understand why your people should—”
“What kind of a looking man is he?”
“A thin, unhealthy, cadaverous man, who doesn’t look as if he would last till the voyage ends. I don’t want him for a room mate, if I have to have one. I think you ought—”
“I will, sir. I will make it all right. I suppose, if it should happen that a mistake has been made, and he has the prior claim to the room, you would not mind taking No. 24—it is a larger and better room.”
“That will suit me exactly.”
So the purser locked his door and went down to No. 18.
“Well?” he said to its occupant.
“Well,” answered Mr. Keeling, looking up at him with his cold and fishy eyes.
“You’re here again, are you?”