CHAPTER XIII
THE tourist train from Venice drew into Brindisi late at night, and the menagerie, as William now dubbed his fellow-tourists, made straight for the Ark. A mild condition of pandemonium reigned for a time. Those who had taken the Sicilian trip, and those who had remained in or near by Naples, had arrived earlier; and they all had to compare notes at once. Of course, William understood that notes of this character were perishable and were not fit to exchange twelve hours later, and he was conditionally charitable in his comments. It was after midnight before the confusion quieted down.
William was genuinely glad to see his two ancients, the archeologists. They had been burrowing among the fresh excavations at Pompeii and Herculaneum, and were as happy as two boys on a summer's Saturday afternoon. They talked across him, over and around him, crackling like firecrackers. When they finally went below William felt very lonely and very old.
The truth is, the nearest approach to happiness possible to William was work for his hands; and these hands of his had been practically idle for weeks. His brain was healthy and normal, but
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