"With pleasure," I said hastily. It occurred to me that I could do worse than visit Mr. Carville's ship. We boarded a trolley-car.
"You see," said Mr. Carville, "I'm interested in Staten Island. In a way it's very English. About a year ago I bought a lot up at Richmond Bridge. The house will be ready in the spring and we'll move in. I've had a fancy for a long while to have a home of my own. We did think of buying in your part, but it's rather a long way for me, besides being dear."
"You'll be leaving Van Diemen's Avenue?" I said. He nodded.
"Sure. The wife's not very anxious to stay out there. She's funny in some ways. Thinks there's a prejudice against her."
"I assure you——" I began.
"Oh, I don't mean you, sir. She means in the stores. She's heard things.... Women are quick to take offence. She has her own way of living and it's a good way. We shouldn't like to feel we weren't wanted. And you know, in your parts, there's a good deal of gentility creeping in. I was reading the local paper last night.... Mrs. This and Mrs. That entertaining to bridge, and so on! Humph!"
The car jingled and swayed round the corners, keeping close to the shore, and pulled up with a jerk at New Brighton. Across the narrow belt of water I could see the sterns of many ships.
"Here we are," said Mr. Carville. "The launch starts down there."
A stiff breeze was blowing and we were occupied with our hats until we reached the Communipaw side. Mr. Carville muttered a warning about no smoking "... five hundred dollars fine ... necessary, you see," and I saw his corn-cob no more until we reached his room.
"There she is," he remarked, indicating two very red funnels projecting above a roof. "That's the Raritan."