CHAPTER I.
The weather door of the smoking-room had been left open to the North Atlantic fog, as the big liner rolled and lifted, whistling to warn the fishing-fleet.
"That Cheyne boy's the biggest nuisance aboard," said a man in a frieze overcoat, shutting the door with a bang.

"He isn't wanted here.

He's too fresh." A white-haired German reached for a sandwich, and grunted between bites: "I know der breed.

Ameriga is full of dot kind.

I dell you you should imbort ropes' ends free under your dariff." "Pshaw! There isn't any real harm to him.