Anne O'Hagan

“ Sometimes it may chance that in the idle seeming dancing of the deities, the destinies of men are wisely wrought, and kindly shapen. Therefore be patient.—From the unpublished "Olympic Philosophy," by Professor Wendell Hemenway, of Boston, U. S. A.
THE Stowaway sat on the lower deck, among the cattlemen. His elbows were on his knees; his chin was buried in his hands. With eyes of dull dislike he watched the summer sea coquetting with the sun and wind. The breeze blew to him a gay melody from the upper deck, where the Violinist amused her little crowd of fellow passengers. ”

“ It was a glad, childlike little tune, and it combined with the tea and the sandwiches to make the passengers gently disposed toward all that part of the universe not sharing their joys. Mild pity even for misguided stowaways was included in the feeling of comfortable benevolence it inspired. It gave place to something pastorally sweet—like lanes with hawthorn blossoms starring the hedges, and stars powdering the sky, and young lovers walking stilly hand in hand. ”

“ She will not have you. She'll not let you land unless you have thirty dollars. And if I should let you escape she would fine my company a hundred. It is not wholly a desire for your society," ended he, wasting his satire, "that will make me carry you back."
The Stowaway was dazed at this patient explanation. He blinked, and his vague mouth opened more widely and more vaguely; but before his slow lips could frame a question, the captain had ordered him taken away.
"Throw him in with the cattlemen," he said. ”