“I see you remember me, sir. But if it's all the same to you, I've got a good berth here and would like to keep it.” The consul had a flash of memory. It was the boatswain of the Skyscraper, one of the least objectionable of the crew. “But what are you doing here? you shipped for the voyage,” he said sharply. “Yes, but I got away at Key West, when I knew what was coming. I wasn't on her when she was abandoned.” “Abandoned!” repeated the consul. “What the d---l! Do you mean to say she was wrecked?” “Well, yes--you know what I mean, sir. It was an understood thing. She was over-insured and scuttled in the Bahamas. It was a put-up job, and I reckoned I was well out of it.” “But there was a passenger! What of him?” demanded the consul anxiously. “Dnnno! But I reckon he got away. There wasn't any of the crew lost that I know of. Let's see, he was an engineer, wasn't he? I reckon he had to take a hand at the pumps, and his chances with the rest.” “Does Mr. Gray know of this?” asked the consul after a pause. The man stared. “Not from me, sir. You see it was nothin' to him, and I didn't care talking much about the Skyscraper. It was hushed up in the papers. You won't go back on me, sir?” “You don't know what became of the passenger?” “No! But he was a Scotchman, and they're bound to fall on their feet somehow!” III. The December fog that overhung St. Kentigern had thinned sufficiently to permit the passage of a few large snowflakes, soiled in their descent, until in color and consistency they spotted the steps of the Consulate and the umbrellas of the passers-by like sprinklings of gray mortar. Nevertheless the consul thought the streets preferable to the persistent gloom of his office, and sallied out. Youthful mercantile St. Kentigern strode sturdily past him in the lightest covert coats; collegiate St. Kentigern fluttered by in the scantiest of red gowns, shaming the furs that defended his more exotic blood; and the bare red feet of a few factory girls, albeit their heads and shoulders were draped and hooded in thick shawls, filled him with a keen sense of his effeminacy. Everything of earth, air, and sky, and even the faces of those he looked upon, seemed to be set in the hard, patient endurance of the race. Everywhere on that dismal day, he fancied he could see this energy without restlessness, this earnestness without geniality, all grimly set against the hard environment of circumstance and weather.