Over an hour it had taken her to penetrate from the outer fringes of the crowd, by way of the baggage-room, to this gate in the barrier, chained and barred. On the other side of it, an irate dragon on guard, ready to breathe fire and brimstone at the mere notion of letting anybody by. When Hildegarde signed to him, he only roared out over the heads of the people, “Nine o’clock’s the time everybody was told to come on board. If you don’t like waitin’ outside till the proper time you can go home.” Hildegarde tried to convey across the barrier that she was acting under instructions. “Keep back,” roared the dragon, quite as if he feared the tall figure might contemplate vaulting over.
“It is a special arrangement,” she said quite low, “made by the purser himself.”
“Yes, yes, very likely.”
“I assure you the purser—”
“God A’mighty, what purser?”
Still Hildegarde spoke as confidentially as possible. “The purser of this ship.”
“What’s the name o’ the purser who could do a thing like that?”
“Mr. Brown is his name.”
“Brown ain’t the name o’ the purser o’ this ship. Guess again!”
The crowd exulted. The dodge had failed.