“I’ll secure for you a comfortable cabin, and you will pay the damage when you strike oil out West, so, you see, there’s no humiliating condescension about the offer.”
“I’m sure there isn’t, and it’s very good of you, Stranleigh, but I can’t dress the part.”
“That’s easily arranged. Ponderby always over-dresses me. His idea of this world is that there is London, and the rest of the planet is a wilderness. You could no more persuade him that a decent suit might be made in New York than that I am the worst-dressed man in London. You and I are about the same height and build. Ponderby will have in my mountainous luggage anywhere from twenty-five to forty suits never yet worn by me. I don’t know on what principle he goes, but as the last time we went to America he took twenty-five new suits, and we crossed in a twenty-five thousand ton boat, he is likely to have at least forty-five suits for this forty-five thousand ton steamship, and he will feel as much pleasure in rigging you out as he took in the crowning of the new King.”
“Very good of you, Stranleigh, but I cannot accept.”
“I am pleading for Ponderby’s sake. Besides, there’s one practical point you have overlooked. If you attempt to land from the steerage—travelling under an assumed name, I suppose——”
“Like yourself, Stranleigh.”
“No, I own the name ‘Trevelyan.’ But, as I was saying, if you attempt to land rather shabbily dressed and almost penniless, you will find yourself turned back as an undesirable alien, whereas you can go ashore from the first cabin unquestioned, save for those amazing queries the U.S.A. Government puts to one, the answers to which Ponderby will be charmed to write out for you.”
Hazel without reply walked back to the rail, leaned his arms on it, and fell into deep thought. Stranleigh followed him.
“Give me your ticket,” he said.