CHAPTER XXIV
THE LITTLE CAPTAIN STARTS ON A JOURNEY
Six weeks had passed since Madge Morton’s discovery of her father, and many things had happened since then. It was now toward the latter part of September, and on a beautiful fall morning one of the busy steamship docks in the lower end of New York City was crowded with a gay company of people. There were four young girls and three young men, a beautiful older woman, with soft, white hair and a look of wonderful distinction; a woman of about twenty-six or seven, with a man by her side, who in some way suggested the calling of the artist; a white-haired old man and an elderly lady, who, in spite of the fact that she answered to the name of Mrs. John Randolph, would have been mistaken anywhere for a New England spinster. Two men were the only other important members of the group. One of them was a distinguished-looking man of about fifty-three with a rather sad expression, and the last a bluff old sea captain, whose laugh rang out clear and hearty above the sound of the many voices.
In front of the wharf lay a beautiful steam yacht, painted pure white and flying a United States flag. The boat was of good size and capable of making many knots an hour, but she looked like a little toy ship alongside the immense ocean-going steamers that were entering and leaving the New York harbor, or waiting their sailing day at their docks.
One of the girls, dressed in a white serge frock and wearing a white felt hat, was walking up and down at the back of the crowd, talking to a young man.
“David, more than almost anything, I believe I appreciate your coming to New York to see me off. It would have been dreadful to go away for a whole year, or maybe longer, without having had a glimpse of you. Who knows what may happen before I am back again?” The girl’s eyes looked wistfully about among her friends, although her lips smiled happily.
For a few seconds the young man made no answer. He had never been able to talk very readily, now he seemed to wish to think before he spoke.
“I shall be a man, Madge, before you are back again,” he replied slowly. “I am twenty now, so I shall be ready to vote. But, best of all, I shall be through college and ready to go to work.” The young man threw back his square shoulders. His black eyes looked serious and steadfast. “I am going to make you proud of me, Madge. You remember I told you so, that day in the Virginia field, when you helped me out of a scrape and started me on the right road.”