England turned out financially just as I thought it would. It ended with either cabling home for money (when I had received two hundred extra already), trying steerage from Liverpool, or the transport idea. I figured that the last, although perhaps a wild goose chase, would be much cheaper than either of the other ways and whatever happened, far more interesting. So here I am, back in Paris again and ready to leave in an hour for St. Nazaire. I got by the customs all right this morning in Havre, but arrived at the depot just as they closed the baggage car of the train; and, of course, I couldn't put on my steamer trunk and duffel bag. In great agony I watched it pull out, leaving me to a ten hour wait for the next through-train to Paris. It wasn't as much of a sacrifice as I thought it was going to be, for I managed to persuade the T. M. office here to give me a free ticket all the way to St. Nazaire, a distance of more than four hundred and fifty miles. Later I had a fine game of billiards in the back room of an old hotel with a convalescent English captain. Being in France once more gave
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