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 deli you you should imbort ropes' ends free under your dariff.' 'Pshaw! There isn't any real harm to him. He's more to be pitied than anything,' a man from New York drawled, as he lay at full length along the cushions under the wet skylight. 'They've dragged him around from hotel to hotel ever since he was a kid. I was talking to his mother this morning. She's a lovely lady, but she don't pretend to manage him. He's going to Europe to finish his education.'
