'That's all right, Mrs. Scott. No trouble. It's a pleasure. Jean's a little pal of mine, aren't you, Jean?'
'Yes, Mr. Hammond,' said Jean, and she ran her finger down the dent of his felt hat.
But suddenly she caught him by the ear and gave a loud scream. 'Lo-ok, Mr. Hammond! She's moving! Look, she's coming in!'
By Jove! So she was. At last! She was slowly, slowly turning round. A bell sounded far over the water and a great spout of steam gushed into the air. The gulls rose; they fluttered away like bits of white paper. And whether that deep throbbing was her engines or his heart Mr. Hammond couldn't say. He had to nerve himself to bear it, whatever it was. At that moment old Captain Johnson, the harbour-master, came striding down the wharf, a leather portfolio under his arm.
'Jean'll be all right,' said Mr. Scott. 'I'll hold her.' He was just in time. Mr. Hammond had forgotten about Jean. He sprang away to greet old Captain Johnson.
'Well, Captain,' the eager, nervous voice rang out again, 'you've taken pity on us at last.'
'It's no good blaming me, Mr. Hammond,' wheezed old Captain Johnson, staring at the liner. 'You got Mrs. Hammond on board, ain't yer?'
'Yes, yes!' said Hammond, and he kept by the harbour-master's side. 'Mrs. Hammond's there. Hul-lo! We shan't be long now!'
With her telephone ring-ringing, the thrum of her screw filling the air, the big liner bore down on them, cutting sharp through the dark water so that big white shavings curled to either side. Hammond and the harbour-master kept in front of the rest. Hammond took off his hat; he raked the decks—they were crammed with passengers; he waved his hat and bawled a loud, strange 'Hul-lo!' across the water; and then turned round and burst out laughing and said something—nothing—to old Captain Johnson.
'Seen her?' asked the harbour-master.
'No, not yet. Steady—wait a bit!' And suddenly, between two great clumsy idiots—'Get out of the way there!' he signed with his umbrella—he saw a hand raised—a white glove shaking a handkerchief. Another moment, and— thank God, thank God!—there she was. There was Janey. There was Mrs. Hammond, yes, yes, yes—standing by the rail and smiling and nodding and waving her handkerchief.
'Well that's first class—first class! Well, well, well!' He positively stamped. Like lightning he drew out his cigar-case and offered it to old Captain Johnson. 'Have a cigar, Captain! They're pretty good. Have a couple! Here'—and he pressed all the cigars in the case on the harbour-master—'I've a couple of boxes up at the hotel.'
'Thenks, Mr. Hammond!' wheezed old Captain Johnson.
Hammond stuffed the cigar-case back. His hands were shaking, but he'd got hold of himself again. He was able to face Janey. There she was, leaning on the rail, talking to some woman and at the same time watching him, ready for him. It struck him, as the gulf of water closed, how small she looked on that huge ship. His heart was wrung with such a spasm that he could have cried out. How little she looked to have come all that long way and back by herself! Just like her, though. Just like Janey. She had the courage of a—And now the crew had come forward and parted the passengers; they had lowered the rails for the gangways.
The voices on shore and the voices on board flew to greet each other.
'All well?'
'All well.'
'How's mother?'
'Much better.'
'Hullo, Jean!'
'Hillo, Aun' Emily!'
'Had a good voyage?'
'Splendid!'
'Shan't be long now!'
'Not long now.'
The engines stopped. Slowly she edged to the wharf-side.
'Make way there—make way—make way!' And the wharf hands brought the heavy gangways along at a sweeping run. Hammond signed to Janey to stay where she was. The old harbour-master stepped forward; he followed. As to 'ladies first,' or any rot like that, it never entered his head.
'After you, Captain!' he cried genially. And, treading on the old man's heels, he strode up the gangway on to the deck in a bee-line to Janey, and Janey was clasped in his arms.
'Well, well, well! Yes, yes! Here we are at last!' he stammered. It was all he could say. And Janey emerged, and her cool little voice—the only voice in the world for him—said,
'Well, darling! Have you been waiting long?'
No; not long. Or, at any rate, it didn't matter. It was over now. But the point was, he had a cab waiting at the end of the wharf. Was she ready to go off. Was her luggage ready? In that case they could cut off sharp with her cabin luggage and let the rest go hang until to-morrow. He bent over her and she looked up with her familiar half- smile. She was just the same. Not a day changed. Just as he'd always known her. She laid her small hand on his sleeve.
'How are the children, John?' she asked.
(Hang the children!) 'Perfectly well. Never better in their lives.'
'Haven't they sent me letters?'
