Alf was gone.
In his bedroom there still hung his old school-suit, his sunburnt hat, his shabby mackintosh—Phyl could not realize that he would never again come stamping and clattering up the stairs to put any of them on. Richie was to have the clothes now, but it gave them all a sharp pang the first time he wore the green-black rain-coat that still seemed to have beneath it Alf’s solid little figure.
Phyl emptied the pockets of the coat herself, before it was transferred to Richie. String, stamps, bits of pencil, a padlock, several nails, several marbles, a penny dreadful, some peach-stones, a conversation-peppermint with “Name the day” upon it, three pocket-knives, a bit of rope tied in ingenious knots, two or three ends of match-boxes, the major half of a [227] ]cigarette that had made the boy no one knew how ill,—all these things she emptied tenderly from the pockets into a collar-box and carried them off to her own room.
Mr. Mergell’s agent had been to the house two or three times; a burly, kind-eyed German, with a delightfully broken accent; they all liked him immediately. He had unlimited credit to set up Alf’s wardrobe for the voyage—in the words of his grandfather—as “befitted a gentleman.” Even Alf himself took a passing interest in the ever-arriving parcels. Mrs. Wise did the shopping as requested on an unstinted scale, and Richie and Freddie and the girls were filled with admiration at the beautiful things that kept arriving,—a cabin-box, a handsome tan Gladstone bag, a portmanteau that turned at need into a bath, a little dressing-case with “A. W. M. W.” upon a silver plate, half-a-dozen suits, hats, shoes and boots, shirts, even white gloves for dances aboard.
“If it were any one but Alf,” said Mrs. Wise as she packed, “the transition from two suits—one bad and the other worse—to all this luxury would make a coxcomb of him. But Alf is safe, so we may as well please the grandfather and the aunt.”
The great steamer went out on a Saturday, and all the family went on board to view the cabin, to see the luggage well disposed, and to catch the last glimpse of the lad.
He wore one of his new suits, a well-cut blue serge, [228] ]his boots creaked, his straw hat was immaculate—all these things added to his misery.
The parting hour fled past. The boys had tramped all over the decks to see the workings of the mammoth creature that soon would be quivering with life; the girls had explored the magnificent white and gold saloon, the music-room, the splendid state-rooms, all so different from the plain though comfortable boat that had seen their voyaging.
But now the last bell had gone and the last straggler been hurried off. The gangways were cast off and dragged in, the great black side that had lain motionless against the wharf, very, very slowly began to move along. Alf was leaning over the upper deckrail, his chin on his hands, his hat tilted over his eyes: the burly German was beside him, trying to cheer his spirits, but the lad looked down at the dear, upturned faces, and his heart seemed bursting. Then a strange thing happened on deck; there came a boy’s shout, so familiar a shout that the doctor and his family turned their eyes alarmedly in the direction.
And lo! the pressing passengers divided in one place, and a little wild-eyed boy sprang up on the seat.