formulated thought.

She said nothing for some time; then remarked mysteriously:

"Perhaps that's why they go to meet boats."

Keith, who was miles beyond the Sherwoods by now, looked bewildered.

Keith had letters of business introduction to Palmer, Cook & Co., a banking
firm powerful and respected at the time, but destined to become involved in
scandal. The most pressing need, both he and Nan had determined, was a
house of their own; the hotel was at once uncomfortable and expensive.
Accordingly a callow, chipper, self-confident, blond little clerk was
assigned to show them about. He had arrived from the East only six months
ago; but this was six months earlier than the Keiths, so he put on all the
airs of an old-timer. In a two-seated calash, furnished by the bankers,
they drove to the westerly part of the town. The plank streets soon ran out
into sand or rutty earth roads. These bored their way relentlessly between
sand hills in the process of removal. Steam paddies coughed and clanked in
all directions. Many houses had, by these operations, been left perched
high and dry far above the grade of the new streets. Often the sand was
crumbling away from beneath their outer corners. All sorts of nondescript
ramshackle and temporary stairs had been improvised to get their
inhabitants in or out. The latter seemed to be clinging to their tenements
as long as possible.

"They often cave in," explained the clerk, "and the whole kit and kaboodle
comes sailing down into the street. Sometimes it happens at night," he
added darkly.