"Name!--oh, yes! name!" I stammered. "Why!--George Bremner." He looked at me and his face fell. I am sure his estimation of me fell with it. I was almost sorry I had not obliged him by calling myself Algernon something-or-other. I paid him. "When do you expect to arrive in Glasgow?" I asked. "Eight o'clock to-morrow morning, sor. And," he added, "there's a boat leaves for Canada to-morrow night." "The devil it does," I grunted. He gave me another of his infectious smiles. "Would ye like another bath in the mornin', sor, before breakfast?" he inquired, as he was leaving. I could not bear to disappoint the little fellow any more. "Yes," I replied. Quarter of an hour later, I was lying on my back in the upper berth, gazing drowsily into the white-enamelled ceiling two feet overhead; happy in the reborn sensations of cleanliness, relaxation and satisfaction; loving my enemies as well, or almost as well, as I loved my friends. I could not get the little steward's advice out of my head. In a jumbled medley, "Out West,--out West,--out West," kept floating before my brain. "The Pacific Coast.--Home climate, only better.--A new country.--A young man's country.--Wild and free.--It's about as far away as ye can get,--as ye can get,--can get,--can get." The rumbling of the cargo trucks, the hoarse "lower away" of the quartermaster, the whirr of the steam winch and the lapping of the water against the boat,--all intermingled, then died away and still farther away, until only the quietest of these sounds remained,--the lapping of the sea and "Canada,--Canada,--Canada." They kept up their communications with me, sighing and singing, the merest murmurings of the wind in a sea shell:--soothing accompaniments to my unremembered dreams. CHAPTER VII K. B. Horsfal, Millionaire When I awoke, the sun was streaming through the porthole upon my face. It was early morning,--Saturday morning I remembered. From the thud, thud, of the engines and the steady rise and fall, I knew we were still at sea. I stretched my limbs, feeling as a god must feel balancing on the topmost point of a star; so refreshed, so invigorated, so buoyant, so much in harmony with the rising sun and the freshness of the early day, that, to be exact, I really had no feeling. I sprang to the floor of my cabin and dressed hurriedly in my anxiety to be on deck; but, at the door, I encountered my little Irish steward. He eyed me suspiciously, as if I had had intentions of evading my morning ablution,--so I swallowed my impatience, grabbed a towel and made leisurely for the bathroom, where I laved my face and hands in the cold water, remained inside for a sufficiently respectable time, then ran off the water and, finally, made my exit and clambered on deck.