Buel laughed to himself as she disappeared. “Fate evidently intends her to read my book,” he said to himself. “She will think the clerk has made a mistake. I must get her unbiased opinion of it before the voyage ends.”
The voyage at that moment was just beginning, and the thud, thud of the screw brought that fact to his knowledge. He sought a steward, and asked him to carry the portmanteau to berth 159.
“You don’t happen to know whether there is any one else in that room or not, do you?” he asked.
“It’s likely there is, sir. The ship’s very full this voyage.”
Buel followed him into the saloon, and along the seemingly interminable passage; then down a narrow side alley, into which a door opened marked 159-160. The steward rapped at the door, and, as there was no response, opened it. All hopes of a room to himself vanished as Buel looked into the small state-room. There was a steamer trunk on the floor, a portmanteau on the seat, while the two bunks were covered with a miscellaneous assortment of hand-bags, shawl-strap bundles, and packages.
The steward smiled. “I think he wants a room to himself,” he said.
On the trunk Buel noticed the name in white letters “Hodden,” and instantly there arose within him a hope that his companion was to be the celebrated novelist. This hope was strengthened when he saw on the portmanteau the letters “J. L. H.,” which were the novelist’s initials. He pictured to himself interesting conversations on the way over, and hoped he would receive some particulars from the novelist’s own lips of his early struggles for fame. Still, he did not allow himself to build too much on his supposition, for there are a great many people in this world, and the chances were that the traveller would be some commonplace individual of the same name.
The steward placed Buel’s portmanteau beside the other, and backed out of the overflowing cabin. All doubt as to the identity of the other occupant was put at rest by the appearance down the passage of a man whom Buel instantly recognised by the portraits he had seen of him in the illustrated papers. He was older than the pictures made him appear, and there was a certain querulous expression on his face which was also absent in the portraits. He glanced into the state-room, looked for a moment through Buel, and then turned to the steward.
“What do you mean by putting that portmanteau into my room?”
“This gentleman has the upper berth, sir.”