THE LANDING
When Dan Webster awoke, next morning, his first thought was that something was wrong, and it was a moment before he realised what it was. The screw had stopped. Instead of quivering with the steady, pulse-like vibration to which, during the past week, he had grown accustomed, the ship lay dead and motionless. He got on deck as quickly as he could, and found that they were anchored in the shelter of Sandy Hook, with a boat from quarantine alongside. Already the deck was thronged with excited passengers; many of the women, in their eagerness to go ashore, had put on their hats and veils and even their gloves. But word got about that there was some sickness in the steerage, and that it would probably be some hours before they could proceed.
Dan took a long look at the familiar land; then he hurried below to breakfast. He had planned his campaign before he went to sleep the previous night, and he was eager to begin it. Breakfast, therefore, did not take him long, and he was soon searching the decks for the man who, possibly, was a son of the Kaiser, but, much more probably, merely a young German who made the most of a chance resemblance.
Dan possessed the aplomb which only years of work on a great paper can give a man; he had wormed interviews from many reluctant and exalted personages; he had asked questions which the other man was certain to resent, often quite justly; he had drilled himself to believe that, when he was on the trail, all mankind was fair game, and that any device which would drag the truth from them was justified—the truth, the truth, that was the end and the justification of newspaper methods! Nevertheless, his heart beat a little faster when, at last, he perceived the object of his search leaning against the rail at the rear of the upper promenade and gazing out to sea.
"I've got buck-fever," he told himself. "It's because I'm out of training." And then he wondered if the Prince was thinking of Germany, and of the lady-love from whom he had been torn.
Nobody else, apparently, had any thought for Germany or for the open sea. Every one had crowded to the side-rails to stare at the land or at the smudge of smoke which marked Long Island, and the stern of the ship was deserted. Telling himself that he would never have a better chance, and that he must finish with the affair before the ship-reporters came aboard, Dan braced himself, approached the solitary and somewhat pathetic figure, removed his cap and bowed respectfully. The Prince, abruptly wakened from his day-dreams, looked up with a start, and met Dan's smiling eyes with an astonished stare.
"I see Your Highness does not remember me," said Dan, good-humouredly. "That is not remarkable, but I was conceited enough to think it just possible that you might."
"No," said the Prince, finding his tongue, "I fear I do not...." He stopped abruptly. "For whom do you take me?" he demanded.
"Surely I am not mistaken!" and Dan looked at him more closely. "No—it is really Your Highness! I cannot be deceived!"
The Prince met his gaze and shook his head, and tried to laugh. But he was not a good liar—his father had long since recognised his unfitness for any diplomatic mission.