"No. Not since a long time ago. Yesterday just before the boat sailed. When Roger was handing him a piece of yellow paper. I waited on deck for him hours and hours. Where is he now?"
"In his stateroom, maybe—or the smoking-room—or on deck. Maybe he's waiting this minute for you to go to breakfast. We'll have you ready in a jiffy."
Anne's face brightened. "I can bathe myself—almost. You may scrub the corners of my ears, if you please. And I can't quite part my hair straight. Will you find Uncle Carey? and see if he is ready for me?"
"Oh, yes, miss. If you'll tell me his name."
"Uncle Carey? He's Mr. Mayo. Mr. Carey Mayo of New York."
"Yes, miss. I'll find him. Just you wait a minute. I forget your name, miss."
"Anne. Anne Lewis."
The good-natured stewardess bustled about in a vain effort to find Mr. Carey Mayo. He was not in his stateroom, nor in the saloon, nor in the smoking-room, nor on deck. In her perplexity, she addressed the captain whom she met at the dining-room door.
"Beg pardon, sir; I'm looking for a Mr. Mayo, sir, and I can't find him anywheres."
"Well?" Captain Wards was gnawing the ends of his mustache.