MR. EDWARD ROBERTS. This is the Governor Marcy, isn’t it?
THE PORTER. Yes, sah.
MR. ROBERTS. Came on from Albany, and not from New York?
THE PORTER. Yes, sah, it did.
MR. ROBERTS. Ah! it must be all right. I—
THE PORTER. Was your wife expecting you to come on board here?
MR. ROBERTS. Well, no, not exactly. She was expecting me to meet her at Boston. But I—[struggling to give the situation dignity, but failing, and throwing himself, with self-convicted silliness, upon THE PORTER’S mercy.] The fact is, I thought I would surprise her by joining her here.
THE PORTER (refusing to have any mercy). Oh! How did you expect to find her?
MR. ROBERTS. Well—well—I don’t know. I didn’t consider. [He looks down the aisle in despair at the close-drawn curtains of the berths, and up at the dangling hats and bags and bonnets, and down at the chaos of boots of both sexes on the floor.] I don’t know how I expected to find her.
[MR. ROBERTS’S countenance falls, and he visibly sinks so low in his own esteem and an imaginary public opinion that THE PORTER begins to have a little compassion.]