“It’s been coming pretty regularly,” said Willie. “There’s a steamer due from Genoa and other Mediterranean ports in a couple of days, and she might have some wheat for Roukas aboard of her.”
“I’ll just make a note of that,” said Mr. King, “and have Easterly keep his eye open for such a shipment.”
“Gee! I’d like to be there when the boat comes in,” thought Willie, but he did not venture to ask for permission. All he could do was to wait and see whether the steamer had any goods for Roukas, and if so, whether or not Easterly found anything suspicious about it.
Like an eager hound straining at his leash was Willie during the next two days. The possibility of success in his venture seemed to Willie to mean so much that he could hardly keep his mind on his work. It seemed to him that he must be present to aid in the search of the suspected goods—provided, of course, the steamer contained any. A hundred times he was on the point of asking his chief for this favor. But each time he fought down the wish. His place, he knew well enough, was right where he was—at the gate. And the best way he could make good with his chief was by staying right at his post, at the gate. But it was not strange that Willie began to hate that gate. It seemed to be a bar to his own desires.
Somehow he managed to keep his lips sealed, though his manner showed plainly enough that something was troubling him.
“What’s worrying you, Willie?” said Mr. King, late on the afternoon of the second day.
“I can’t help thinking that maybe—perhaps—Mr. Easterly might—might miss—might overlook something,” stammered Willie, afraid to say too much, yet fearful of saying too little.
Mr. King laughed. He had been a boy himself, and the time was not so far distant, either, that he had forgotten how boys feel about things that mean a great deal to them.
“I think I understand,” he said sympathetically. “I’ll tell Mr. Easterly to be particularly careful if he finds anything for Roukas.”
When word came, next day, that the steamer they were looking for had left Quarantine and was on her way to her dock, Mr. King called Willie to his desk. “That boat you’re looking for,” he said, “is on her way up from Quarantine now. She’ll be docked by ten o’clock. I want you to take this letter to Mr. Henderson. You know him, don’t you? He’s one of our special agents.”