He doubled and circled through this street and that until at last he came out into a broad, brilliant thoroughfare.

An iron-pillared railway reared itself skyward and trains clamored past.

Bloomsbury: millions of years and miles away! He would wake up presently, with the sunlight (when it shone) pouring into his room, and the bright geraniums on the outside window-sill bidding him good morning.
He was on the point of rushing up the station stairway, when he espied a cab at the far corner.

A replica of a London cab, something which smacked of home; he could have hugged for sheer joy the bleary-eyed cabby who touched his rusty high hat.
"Free ?" "Free 's th' air, bo.

Where to ?" "Pier 60, White Star Line.