II
Certain psychologists say that we forget only what we wish to forget, but it would be a gross libel to say that poor Miss Smith had wanted to forget her ticket. Quite the contrary! She was terribly ashamed of herself, and terribly worried.
“I’ll go back and get it,” she said.
They were all on the pier then, and other passengers, who had not forgotten their tickets, were showing them and going aboard. Trunks and bags were being trundled past. Miss Smith caught a glimpse of the gangplank, a curtain of fine, steady rain, and, behind that curtain, the deck of the ship. There was magic about that ship, as there is about all ships. There was the ship smell, as exciting as gunpowder.
“I’ll rush back and get it!” cried Miss Smith.
That was really the beginning of the whole thing, and quite as strange as any of the other things that happened. For Miss Smith to cry, in that eager voice, that she would “rush,” for Miss Smith to be so flushed and starry-eyed, for Miss Smith to be saying to herself, “Oh, I wouldn’t miss going for anything!”—all this was nothing less than marvelous.
“You’ve just about got time,” said Mr. Patterson severely.
She rushed madly. A taxi had just drawn up outside, and a young man dashed out of it in a frightful hurry. Miss Smith seemed vaguely to remember his face, but it didn’t matter. She was in the taxi almost as soon as his foot touched the ground. She was off. She was urging on the taxi, in silence, with clenched hands. She would not miss that ship. She wanted to go! She would go!
Like a whirlwind she tore up the stairs of the sedate West Side house. She pulled open her bureau drawer so violently that it came out altogether and fell to the floor. There was the ticket. She thrust it into her coat pocket, flew down the stairs, past the astonished servants, hopped into the taxi again, and was off. How thankful she was[Pg 237] now that Mr. Patterson, in his characteristic fashion, had insisted upon their going down to the ship in good time!
The rain was coming down steadily. The taxi splashed through puddles, and sometimes skidded a little, but what cared she? She felt triumphant and happy. She felt sure she would not miss the ship; and she did not. The crowd standing on the pier and the crowd standing on the deck, separated by the curtain of rain, saw a flushed and breathless young woman hurry up the gangplank at the very last moment. Up went the plank, a minute later the whistle blew, and they were off.
Still a little breathless, Miss Smith stood by the railing. In the excitement of the moment she felt inclined to wave her hand, or her handkerchief, as the people about her were doing; but that was absurd, for she wasn’t saying good-by to any one, wasn’t leaving any one behind. She turned, instead, to look for the Pattersons.
They were not in sight, and Miss Smith, being a very inexperienced traveler, did not quite know how to find them. As they were all on the same ship, however, this did not worry her very much. She found a steward to lead her to the stateroom that she was to share with Mrs. Patterson and Gladys, and knocked on the door. No one answered. She opened the door and went in. Not a trace of a Patterson there—no baggage except her own suit case. She had had a steamer trunk, too, but it was not there.
Miss Smith sat down in a wicker armchair and waited. She meant to wait patiently, but as a matter of fact she waited delightedly. The throb of the engines set her blood dancing. Everything she saw was fascinating—the three berths so neatly made up, the snugness, the coziness of this little cabin, with the rain falling outside. She knew that she had been very stupid and careless about the ticket, and that Mr. and Mrs. Patterson were surprised and not very well pleased; but even that couldn’t disturb her just now. She was on a ship, sailing the sea!
The sound of a bugle interrupted her reverie. Common sense, and another and stronger inner voice, told her that this must mean lunch. There was a little book hanging up on the wall. She looked in it, and learned that lunch began at half past twelve. It was noon now.
“Perhaps they’ll wait for me in the dining room—I mean, the dining saloon,” thought Miss Smith. “I wonder if I ought to go down there or wait here! I wonder what I ought to do!”
She sat where she was for another very long half hour. Then she washed her hands, straightened her hat, and set forth, rather timidly. She felt that the Pattersons were keeping away from her in order to show their disapproval, and she didn’t altogether blame them.
That apologetic look, that little shadow of a doubtful smile, were singularly becoming to her. What is more, the damp air had made her hair curl quite riotously, and the glow of her recent excitement still lingered on her face. Mr. Powers saw her standing there, looking anxiously about the dining saloon, and he thought he had never seen such a pretty little thing.