“What for?”
“Busted.”
“Oh, Mrs. Locke, what shall you do?” While Hildegarde, vaguely aware of the unusual sound of a dog howling distractedly, stood beside the woman who in those seconds had seen her hoped-for home, her very bread swept from her, Louis’s voice was audible over the girl’s shoulder. Hildegarde turned to find herself in her father’s arms. She did not notice how wet he was with sea-water. “Oh, you are ill!” she faltered.
“My child! My child!” he kept repeating, and then: “What a journey!”
“But you see I’ve got to Nome all right.”
“To Nome! God forbid!”
“But God hasn’t forbidden,” said the girl, swallowing the sob that sight of the haggard face had brought into her throat. She was conscious, too, that her fellow-travelers were eagerly listening to the colloquy.
“I’ve been telling Cheviot I can’t think how he could allow you—” Mr. Mar caught himself up and laid his hand affectionately on the young man’s shoulder. “Of course Louis didn’t really know. The Nome he left was bad enough, but that Nome has passed away. To-day it isn’t a place for a girl to stay in an hour.”
“’Sh! father! You’ll scare my friends. This is Mrs. Blumpitty. She thinks very highly of Nome. And this is Mr. Blumpitty. Mother put me under their care, and they’ve been so kind. They’ve brought a big party up again this year. We’ve all come believing great things of the new camp.”
The moment the handshaking was over, “This way,” Cheviot said, and while the talk buzzed, and the dog somewhere down yonder among the swarming rowboats howled dismally, and questions showered on the man from Nome, Louis was leading Mr. Mar toward the companionway.