The Kinship of Souls

I

DEPARTURE

The "Teutonic" (White Star Steamer),

July 1, 18

I HAD written to the purser to request him to ask the saloon steward, who had the locating of passengers at table, to give me a place near my friend, Dr. Brett. Dr. Brett was an experienced traveller who knew to whom to apply for everything he needed, and generally applied with the result that in the saloon he sat where he wanted to sit, usually at the end of one of the little cross tables, with his back to the light, and as near midships as possible. Dr. Brett had a genius for some things. How he managed to get three good-looking ladies at his table I could not discover. There were only twelve really goodlooking ladies, winsome and attractive, with bright eyes, on board that ship, and he had three of them at his table. But there was no room for me. Either the purser had not received my note, or the saloon steward had lost it, or he had snubbed me as a total stranger,

or Dr. Brett had simply paid me an empty compliment. For when I applied to that steward (he was not at all a good-looking man, had a manner that I did not approve and a voice which did not affect me pleasantly), that steward said abruptly and almost as fiercely as Macbeth at the feast when the ghost of Banquo took the seat to which he had no right, "The table 's full."

At first I thought that I would appeal to Dr. Brett, but my second thought was, "No; perhaps Dr. Brett did not really want me there," for I was only a theological student who had just finished his course-though not with joy. To a certain degree I had discovered myself, and had found out that my extreme sensitiveness would probably all through life be an open sore into which one and another would cast their pepper and salt.

It so happened that as I was turning away from this abrupt steward, whose abruptness I hated, another abrupt man, whose abruptness I rather liked, accosted me, "Hello! you here? Well, that's fine! Where are you seated at table?" "Nowhere," I replied. "Well, that's finer still; come with me. I have two seats and can't fill them both at one time, and you can have which you like." Now, Colonel Newbury was a man by himself. But is not every man a man by himself? No, sir. Some men represent a type and are simply like to their type, as seven peas in one pod are alike. Other men

have a kind of individuality which gives them distinction. Even in a litter of puppies there will always be one which embodies in itself the most advanced dog-excellence of that breed. I was afraid of Colonel Newbury, and yet I liked him; but the more intimately I knew him, the more my liking got the better of my doubt and fear. I accepted Colonel Newbury's invitation. The first breakfast, or dinner, or lunch on board ship is trying, and specially so to a sensitive stupid like myself. There is some one to your right whom you do not know; and some one to your left, it may be, to whom you are a stranger; and three or four other somebodies in front whose faces you look on for the first time. Every one seems a little shy and awkward, and the first meal passes without a word beyond "Might I trouble you for the salt?" said, if to a lady, in your mildest and most musical voicetones; if to a gentleman, with somewhat more of challenge in the request. At the second meal something has occurred which invites specification. The first night has passed. You know from experience the dimensions of your stateroom, and begin to get an idea of how much in your comfortable bedroom at home is luxury and superfluity. When two persons

have to sleep together in a room twelve feet by nine, or less, with such steamer trunks and dressing bags as are required for decency (leaving the word "comfort" for other surroundings), it is necessary to be very accommodating and