Five days later they sat together on the deck of the Etruria, outward bound. It was within an hour of the time of sailing and a mild bedlam reigned. Downstairs Mammy Cely was arranging things in the staterooms. Upstairs Philip, a shade over his eyes and a steamer rug thrown over him, was snuggled in the arms of his new father.
The doctor had given them every hope.
People were hurrying on to the steamer and out on the deck to talk with friends across the rails. Farewells were being spoken, tears shed, and parting admonitions given. There was a confusion of sounds. "Goodbye!" "Where's the purser?" "Don't get sea-sick!" "No, indeed!" "Did you get the little bag?" "Why no—there were four." "Oh, where's the purser?"
Through this babel the deck steward was making his way with a letter held high.
"Is Mr. De Jarnette here? A telegram for Mr. De Jarnette."
Richard opened it without looking at the address.
"It is for you," he said.
Margaret in the chair beside him took the telegram and read:
"Bill passed House this morning. President's signature assured. Hurrah!