They continued on down West Street, along the water-front. The movement of traffic proved a continual fascination to Willie. He never tired of watching the endless procession of trucks, drays, express wagons, motor-cars, and other vehicles, with their unbelievable loads of merchandise. From time to time they sauntered out on a pier, their uniforms gaining them admission without question. “See that odd little boat over there?” said the purser, as they walked out on one of the piers. “Sure,” replied Willie. “I can’t help seeing her. She’s the only boat in the dock.” “Do you notice anything unusual about her?” said the purser. “Sure. It’s the way she’s decked over. She looks like a trim little steam-yacht boarded up for the winter. It looks as though her owner had built a sort of second story on her deck. She has hardly any windows, either. I notice she flies the United States flag.” “Have you any idea what she is?” “Not the slightest,” said Willie. “Well, that’s a mail-boat. She conveys the mails from incoming steamers. The mail-boat rushes down to Quarantine, comes up alongside of a liner, and opens her hatches. The steamer shoots the mail-sacks down into the little boat, which rushes them to land.” “That’s something else I didn’t know,” remarked Willie. “I’m obliged to you for pointing her out.” They left the pier and continued on down West Street. As they crossed that thoroughfare to the sidewalk, a truck passed them, loaded with bananas. But the bananas were far different in appearance from the bunches of rich yellow fruit seen so commonly in the windows of grocery stores. Each bunch was green—fruit as well as stem. And there were dozens and dozens of bunches. Willie noticed the truck, but thought little of it. He had seen green bananas before, though perhaps never so many at one time. Before they had gone half a block, another truck passed them, also loaded high with green bananas. Soon another came past and then another. “Well,” cried Willie, “would you look at all the bananas? Got enough there to feed the nation.” “If you knew how many it takes to feed the nation,” said the purser, “you would know that those few wagon loads are hardly a drop in the bucket. Why, the banana ships are going all the time, rushing right back to Central America as soon as they get rid of their cargo, and then rushing home again as fast as they can, so that their fruit won’t get baked on the way.” “Baked bananas!” exclaimed Willie, his eyes open wide with astonishment. “You’re stringing me.” “Not a bit of it,” smiled the purser. “Tell me what you mean, then.” “Just what I said. If they don’t hustle home with their fruit as fast as steam will carry them, the bananas are likely to cook. Then they are a dead loss, for the Board of Health will not allow the sale of bananas like that. Why, I stood on one of these banana piers one night and watched the handlers throw half a million bananas overboard.”