The empty wagons formed a line on the far side of the pier. On the near side of the pier, beside the steamer, several wagons were being loaded. The banana handlers were apparently mostly foreigners. They had neither trucks nor baskets, however, but carried the great bunches of bananas in their arms as carefully as they might convey so many infants. Down one side of the gangplank walked a line of empty-handed carriers, while up the other side came the men bearing the big bunches of fruit. They moved in a steady stream—into the ship and out, into the ship and out; and one man walked close on another’s heels. The bananas were passed by the carriers to waiting hands in the trucks, and the great bunches were piled carefully and skilfully, sometimes with layers of salt hay between to save them from being bruised in the trucks. As fast as a wagon was loaded, the driver drove away, and a wagon from the waiting line turned and pulled into its place. Thus the fruit moved in a ceaseless stream from vessel to wagon, and from pier shed to store or freight-house. For many of these bananas would be sent inland by train, to supply folks in interior towns. The steady movement of fruit fascinated Willie. It made him think of the constant flow of a stream of water. For a long time he watched in silence. Then the purser caught his eye. “What do you think of it?” he asked. “I can’t tell you,” said Willie. “It’s wonderful. It gives me a feeling I can’t express. But I know one thing. I shall never forget this scene. And I am a thousand times obliged to you for showing it to me.” “I’m glad we happened to think of it,” said the purser. “It’s as good as a movie.” “It’s a heap sight better,” commented Willie. “This is real.” “I thought the movie was reel, too,” said Roy. “If it weren’t for the possibility of spoiling your fine uniform, Roy,” laughed Willie, “I’d soak you with one of those green bananas.” And he pointed to the pieces of unripe fruit on the pier that had dropped from the bunches while they were being handled. “Do you know,” said the purser, after consulting his watch, “that it has been more than an hour since we left the _Lycoming_? It’s half-past one. I think we can safely get under way.” They left the fruit pier, and striking directly away from the water-front, at once found themselves in a maze of small streets. Curious, indeed, was the transformation. All about them stood sky-scrapers, towering aloft hundreds of feet. Yet the little thoroughfares they were now penetrating were lined with low, old, brick buildings, mostly dwellings or dwelling-houses that had been converted into shops. They were small, low, dingy, ill-kept buildings of three or four stories with sloping roofs and dormer-windows. Their lines were good. Some of the doorways were still beautiful, despite the rough treatment they had had. It required little imagination to picture the time when these were the homes of well-to-do people.