The latter locked his razor into a toilet-case, locked the toilet-case
into a suit-case, and seemed to debate locking the suit-case into a
little old steamer trunk. Deciding, however, that his valuables were
sufficiently protected, and that nothing was left out to excite the
cupidity of a man to whom he had not been properly introduced, the
person from Hartford went forth with a final retort.
"'As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he!'"
"'S'at _so_?" said Bean insolently to the closed door.
He roused himself and descended precariously from his shelf. Once upon
his feet he was convinced that the ship was foundering. He hurriedly
dressed and adjusted a life-belt from one of a number he saw behind a
rack. Over the belt he put on a serviceable rain-coat. It seemed to be
the coat to wear.
[Illustration: "Lumbago!" said Bean, both hands upon the life-belt]
Outside he plunged through narrow corridors until he came to a stairway.
He mounted this to be as far away from the ocean as possible. He came
out upon a deck where people were strangely not excited by the impending
disaster. Innocent children romped, oblivious to their fate, while
callous elders walked the deck or reclined in little old steamer chairs.
He poised a moment, trying to prevent the steamer's deck from mounting
by planting one foot firmly upon it. The device, sound enough in
mechanical theory, proved unavailing.
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