Of course, he set his wits to work
instantly to construct new avenues for the promised activity of the
_Aphrodite_, but, these imaginings being as hopelessly mistaken as are
most other human peeps into futurity, they served only to keep him on
tenterhooks until he revisited the outfitters' establishment. There he
was handed the keys of two large steel trunks, canvas-covered, and
requested to assure himself that they contained all the articles set
forth on a list. The manager also gave him a first-class ticket for
Marseilles, and a typewritten instruction that he was to travel by the
nine o'clock train from Victoria that evening. On arriving at the
French port he would find the _Aphrodite_ moored in No. 3. Basin, and
he was requested not to wear any portion of his uniform until on board
the yacht.
The nature of the arrangements, the prodigal supply of clothing, rather
took Dick's breath away. Even the initials, "R. K.," were painted on
the trunks and stitched on to the canvas.
"My employer seems to have done things pretty thoroughly," he could not
help saying.
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