While another loud voice ordered:
“Aft gangway for Cornwall! All ashore—all ashore! Aft gangway—all ashore!”
Some were hurrying down the stairs to that “aft gangway,” others speeding up them in equal haste with that excitement which always marks the infrequent traveler, and poor Alfaretta caught the same fever of haste. Without a word of real farewell, now that she had come thus far at so much risk to speak it, she dashed ahead, slipped on the brass-tipped stair and plunged headlong into the space below.
For an instant there was silence even in that busy scene, people halting in their ascent and porters turning their skids aside with angry exclamations, lest the trunks they wheeled should fall upon her as she seemed bent to fall upon them.
Yet only one thought now possessed the terrified girl—escape! She had bumped her head till she was dizzy, but she mustn’t stop for that. Yonder yawned that open space in the deck-rail which they called the “aft gangway” and toward that point she propelled herself regardless of all that impeded her way.
Down the plank, out upon the boards of the board dock, into the medley of stages and yelling drivers she hurried, very much as James Barlow and Montmorency Stark had done at that other, upper landing. But when she felt the solid quay beneath her feet she paused, clapped her hands to her dizzy head and—felt herself grasped in a wild and fierce embrace.
Then both upon that dock and the deck of the outgoing steamer rang a shout of merriment, which made anger take the place of fear as she whirled about in the arms of whoever held her and shook her fist at the boat and its passengers.
“Well! That was a short trip but it was full of incident!” remarked one passenger, near to Molly and Dorothy. They had run to the rail to see what followed Alfy’s disappearance, and if she were carried away injured. “I saw her come aboard and depart and she managed to get a deal of action into those few minutes. Friend of yours, young ladies?”
They faced about, wondering why this man should speak to them. He looked like a gentleman though a rather shabby one. Montmorency would have termed him “seedy.” His coat had seen better days and his hat, lying on the bench beside him, was worn and discolored, and his thin white hair told that he, also, was old. This made the girls regard him kindly, for both of them had a reverence for age.
More than that, a crutch rested against his knee and this made an instant appeal to Dorothy’s sympathy. She had seen nobody with a crutch since she had said farewell to Father John; and now in pity for this other cripple she lingered near answering his many questions most politely.