"
Lying on his mattress, Bill stared at the network of the
ratlines against the brilliant sky. The crisscross lines made
him think of the ruled order-blanks of the Souvenir Company.
"Gee!" he mused, "I'd like to know if Jake is handling my work
the way we--they--like it. I'd like to see the old office again,
and Charley Carpenter, just for a couple of minutes. Gee!
I wish they could have seen me put it all over Pete to-night!
That's what I'm going to do to the blooming Englishmen if they
don't like me."
The S.S. _Merian_ panted softly beside the landing-stage at
Birkenhead, Liverpool's Jersey City, resting in the sunshine
after her voyage, while the cattle were unloaded. They had
encountered fog-banks at the mouth of the Mersey River. Mr.
Wrenn had ecstatically watched the shores of
England--_England!_--ride at him through the fog, and had panted
over the lines of English villas among the dunes. It was like
a dream, yet the shore had such amazingly safe solid colors,
real red and green and yellow, when contrasted with the fog-wet
deck unearthily glancing with mist-lights.
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