Robert E Leej leaned against the railing, allowing the smoke from his cheroot to trail across the stern and disappear in a riot of sunlit water-drops thrown aloft by the paddlewheel. He taps the leather bag stowed securely in the pocket of his waistcoat, feeling the resistant weight of a cluster of gold coins. The cards had been good to him, the champagne crisp, and the fair lady never noticed when he had slipped out of her boudoir, clutching a rather extravagant emerald pinky-ring in his fist.
He grinned as he looked out over the long string of tents, marquees, pennants, hot-air balloons and assorted jetsam that had been erected along the beach. As the Hansell eased into the dock and dropped the gangway, he made his way to the walkway, tipped the brim of his plantation hat to a dark-eyed lady, and singing "O I come from Alabamy wit' a banjo on my knee", was lost in the carnival crowd.