So saying, he thrust his open palm into her face and forced her back. I got up just in time to set him back on a fig-case and inform him that we had stood for brutality on a foreign soil and on shipboard, but we were through taking it mildly. “Wot! I’ll fix you for buttin’ in, you —— dago!” “Hold on, that fellow’s a Secret-Service man. He’s no dago. He speaks too good English,” said another dock man who hurried up to the first man, who had risen and was preparing to “do” me. His manner changed. “’Scuse me, mister, but ye see these —— would make anybody mad; they ain’t got no sense at all, don’t mind what you tell ’em, and ’d run all over Hoboken if you let ’em.” I gave him a little good advice on how to treat well-meaning human beings, and we passed on. [Illustration: Croatians and Italians—Swedes Arriving—Loading the Barges, New York] In a few minutes we were having one more wrestling-match with the baggage. By this time the customs men had passed our heap, and when I did get an inspector and got it looked into, two trunks were held up for customs charges on account of all the provender packed in them, and the two musical instruments Antonio had bought in Naples were held. Unfortunately the marks of the prices asked by the Neapolitan dealer were still on them, and though Antonio had got them for just about one third, the customs appraiser later set a duty on them that totaled more than half the original cost. When we were through with the trunks, we found that the inspectors had passed over a part of the hand baggage. Two men standing by offered to mark it with chalk just as the inspectors mark it to show it has been inspected, and I was about to allow them to do it and then hand them over when my wife came up with the camera, and they turned and hurried away, going aboard the ship. I think they were either ship’s people, or part of the crew from some other boat at the North German Lloyd piers.