He attended to two other customers. They didn’t expect such things of him. But there she still stood with her eyes fixed upon the agent, blockin’ up the way, waitin’, waitin’. “What’d I do if they all expected me to go runnin’ round the wharves with ’em!” he demanded in an angry undertone.
“You promised,” she began, glancing at the fact that there were three other clerks in the office.
“Mr. Blumpitty’s satisfied!” he said severely, pointing out the lamentable contrast. And he’d taken her for a lady. A lady would believe a gentleman when he told her it was all right—and not worry him. But though she must have seen plainly how she was still further lowering the agent’s lofty ideal of how a lady should behave, there she stood looking at him with a grave steadiness that held no hope of her yielding her point. “Promise! promise!”—why, it was damned good-natured of him to make a promise, but to expect him to— He bent toward her. “Look yere,” he said in an angry whisper, “I ain’t got a special permit yet.”
“I’ll wait till you get it.”
“Can’t have it yere before three.”
“Very well, I’ll come at three, but you must please not disappoint me again, or else I—” He jerked away. As he saw her going out—Now what did she mean?—“or else she—” You never know what pull these noospaper women have got.
He had forgotten all about her when— O Lor! There she was upon the stroke, like fate.
Well, well, did she promise not to tell none o’ the rest o’ the passengers? All right, then. Come ahead.
He led the way to the docks with every circumstance of secrecy; dodging through back streets, lying to acquaintances as to where he was going, and gradually growing cheerfuller, pausing to exchange humorous asides with friends along the wharf. Hildegarde, waiting, silent, patient, during these passages, was entirely aware of the curious looks bent upon her, and saw that her expedition with this little rat of a man was held by some to have a “larky” aspect (save the mark!). She saw it was incredible to these people that the agent should take this trouble for any other reason than that she was an attractive young woman who had smiled upon this poor little drink-sodden creature, and was giving him the rare sensation of being “a sad dog with the ladies.” Even playing at the idea had quite transformed the agent. Poor little misery! She knew instinctively she had nothing to fear from him, and even if he had been a different type she had no doubt but what she would have known how to keep him in his place when they were alone. But before these pals of his the agent put on sly looks, carried himself rakishly, and tipped his hat very far back on his head. Well, it was an odd world evidently, but Hildegarde Mar had come out to see it. Now, after various formalities, they were going on board.
“See! paint’s wet yet. That’s why I didn’t want y’ to come. Spoil y’ clo’es, sure ’s a gun.” Apparently to-morrow the paint would be dry as a bone. Past the strangely few decent, though cramped, state-rooms of the first saloon, each ticketed with the names of prospective occupants, down into the dim region of the second saloon, down into the intermediate, further down, clinging on to ladders, down, down, into the bowels of the ship, Hildegarde and the ferret-faced agent went, looking for Mr. Blumpitty’s quarters. And lo! though that gentleman had paid for first-class accommodation—as the agent admitted—he’d been “glad to get the only accommodation left,” and that was in the hold! The twenty-nine berths were twenty-nine sections of deal shelves, ranged in tiers five deep, and set so close one on top of the other you could not believe it possible for a good-sized man to insert his body between the unsheeted ticking of his chuck-mattress and the board above his head. Hildegarde stood stooping in the awful hole and staring as one not crediting her eyes.