In Liverpool he deliberately threw away a full sovereign in motion-pictures and music-halls.  But he drank nothing, not even his customary ale.  Not so long ago he had tasted his first champagne; very expensive, something more than two hundred pounds.  Stupid ass!  And yet . . .  The very life he had always been longing for, dreaming of, behind his counters:  to be free, to rove at will, to seek adventure.

“Then,” said Sir Tristram, “I will fight with you unto the uttermost.”  “I grant,” said Sir Palomides, “for in a better quarrel keep I never to fight, for and I die of your hands, of a better knight’s hands may I not be slain.” . . .

Off for America again; and the Book of Marvelous Adventures, to be opened wide by a pair of Irish blue eyes, deep as the sea, glancing as the sunlight on its crests.

“You are my steward, I believe?”

In his soul of souls Thomas hoped so.  “Yes, miss—­indeed, yes, if you occupy this cabin.”

“Here are the tickets”; and the young lady signed the slip of paper he gave her:  Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Killigrew, Miss Killigrew and maid.  “I shall probably keep you very busy.”  There was a twinkle in her eyes, but he was English and did not see it.

“That is what I am here for, miss.”  He smiled reassuringly.

“Never ask my father if he wishes tea and toast”—­gravely.

“Yes, miss”—­with honest gravity.  Thomas knew nothing of women, young or old.  With the habits and tastes of the male biped he was tolerably familiar.  He was to learn.

“Hot water-bottles for my mother every night, and a pot of chocolate for myself.  I shall always have my breakfast early in the saloon.  I’m a first-rate sailor.”

A rush, a whir.

“Kitty, you darling!  They have put us on the other side of the ship.”

Thomas was genuinely glad of it.  With a goddess and a nymph to wait upon, heaven knew how many broken dishes he’d have to account for.  Never in the park, never after the matinees, never in all wide London, had he seen two such lovely types:  Titian and Greuse.

“No!” said the Greuse.

“Stupid mistake at the booking-office,” replied the Titian.  “Come up on deck.  They are putting off.”

“Just a moment.  Put the small luggage, Mr. . . .”

“Webb.”

“Mr. Webb.  Put the small luggage on the lounge.  Never mind the straps.  That is all.”

“Yes, miss.”

The two young women hurried off.  Thomas stared after them, his brows bent in a mixture of perplexity, dazzlement and diffidence.

“A very good-looking steward.”

“Kitty, you little wretch!”

“Why, he is good-looking.”

“Princes, dukes, waiters, cabbies, stewards; all you do is look at them, and they become slaves.  You’ve more mischief in you than a dozen kittens.”

“I have met cabbies whom I much prefer to certain dukes.”