Casual immigration had almost ceased by that time, but the sight indicated the necessity for immediate action. The immigration laws of Marlow, though not coded as yet, were strict; and only bona fide workers were admitted, and even those were critically examined.
Thrale shouted to attract attention and the procession stopped.
When he came through the gate on to the road, he was accosted by name.
“Oh, Mr Thrale, fancy finding you,” said the young woman at the pole of the truck.
The meeting of Livingstone and Stanley was far less amazing.
An old woman perched on the truck and partly sheltered by the remains of an umbrella, regarded his appearance with some show of displeasure.
“By rights ’e should ’ave written to me in the first place,” she muttered.
“Mother’s got a touch of the sun,” explained Blanche hurriedly.
Thrale had not yet spoken. He was considering the problem of whether he owed any duty to these wanderers, which could override his duty to Marlow.
“Where have you come from?” he asked.