He raved and tore his hair. He ranted. All to no avail. There was, in
plain American, "nothing doing!"

Damp but determined, he sought among the crowd for one who had bookings
on the Saronia. He could find, at first, no one so lucky; but finally he
ran across Tommy Gray. Gray, an old friend, admitted when pressed that
he had a passage on that most desirable boat. But the offer of all the
king's horses and all the king's gold left him unmoved. Much, he said,
as he would have liked to oblige, he and his wife were determined. They
would sail.

It was then that Geoffrey West made a compact with his friend. He
secured from him the necessary steamer labels and it was arranged that
his baggage was to go aboard the Saronia as the property of Gray.

"But," protested Gray, "even suppose you do put this through; suppose
you do manage to sail without a ticket--where will you sleep? In chains
somewhere below, I fancy."

"No matter!" bubbled West. "I'll sleep in the dining saloon, in a
lifeboat, on the lee scuppers--whatever they are. I'll sleep in the
air, without any visible support! I'll sleep anywhere--nowhere--but I'll
sail! And as for irons--they don't make 'em strong enough to hold me."

At five o'clock on Thursday afternoon the Saronia slipped smoothly away
from a Liverpool dock. Twenty-five hundred Americans--about twice the
number the boat could comfortably carry--stood on her decks and cheered.
Some of those in that crowd who had millions of money were booked
for the steerage. All of them were destined to experience during that
crossing hunger, annoyance, discomfort. They were to be stepped on, sat
on, crowded and jostled. They suspected as much when the boat left the
dock. Yet they cheered!