Of course we didn't invite Fagg.

Fagg was a steerage passenger, and it was necessary, you see, now we were ashore, to exercise a little discretion.

But Old Fagg, as we called him--he was only about twenty-five years old, by the way--was the source of immense amusement to us that day.

It appeared that he had conceived the idea that he could walk to Sacramento, and actually started off afoot.

We had a good time, and shook hands with one another all around, and so parted.