you must have a mattress like this", and he pointed to one, "and two blankets", he added.
"Thank you, Sir", I said and shrugged my shoulders at his interference. In another hour he came round again.
"Why is there no mattress here and no blanket?" he asked.
"Because I don't need 'em", I replied.
"You must have them", he barked, "it's the rule, d'ye understand?" and he hurried on with his inspection. In half an hour he was back again.
"You haven't the mattress yet", he snarled.
"I don't want a mattress", I replied.
"Where's your father or mother", he asked.
"Haven't got any", I retorted.
"Do they let children like you go to America" he cried, "What age are you?"
I was furious with him for exposing my youth there in public before everyone. "How does it matter to you?" I asked disdainfully. "You're not responsible for me, thank God!"
"I am though", he said, "to a certain degree at least. Are you really going to America on your own?"
"I am", I rejoined casually and rudely.
"What to do?" was his next query.
"Anything I can get" I replied.
"Hum", he muttered, "I must see to this".
Ten minutes later he returned again. "Come with me", he said, and I followed him to his cabin—a comfortable stateroom with a good berth on the right of the door as you entered, and a good sofa opposite.
"Are you really alone? he asked.
I nodded, for I was a little afraid he might have the power to forbid me to go and I resolved to say as little as possible.
