Marion Marlowe turned away with a respectful bow, then something occurred to her and she looked back anxiously.
“Oh, by the way, will there be a boat this morning, madam?”
The superintendent thought a moment—she had almost forgotten that.
“You will have to go up on the ‘dead boat,’ the Fidelity,” she said, decidedly. “Tell the captain I sent you and it will be all right. That is due at half-past eleven. You don’t mind, do you, Miss Marlowe?”
Marion did not even shiver at this ghastly suggestion. She was fast growing acclimated to these daily horrors.
“I guess it won’t hurt me,” she said with a smile. “I can stay on deck, where I will not see the coffins.”
When the Fidelity stopped, Marion hurried aboard. She had seen the two pine boxes and wished to avoid them.
“Bring on those silent passengers!” bawled the captain, jovially, and as the coffins were tossed aboard Marion gazed out over the water.
“Who’ve we got this time?” asked one of the convict sailors after they had started. “We’ve all got to make this trip some day, boys, and I’m cur’us to know what kind of comp’ny we’ll be keepin’ up yender!”
He made a motion of his head up the river as he spoke, and Marion sighed as she thought of these strong men looking forward to lying in the pauper graveyard.