“But they will cable you from Liverpool probably before this is answered,” said Mr. Marlowe; “so keep up heart, children.”
“They?” Polly dared not even think “Father” and “Phronsie,” as she clung to Jasper. “Yes, dear Mr. Marlowe,” she said with a smile, as he went out.
He came striding in presently, his keen gray eyes alight. “I believe it is good,” he said, handing a yellow envelope to Jasper; “this has just come.”
Jasper tore it open, one arm around Polly, and together they cried, “Oh, they’re safe, Mr. Marlowe—all of them—Joey and all—safe!”
Mr. Marlowe picked up the yellow sheet as it dropped from their hands. With a glance like lightning down the page, he gave it back, and rushed off. “I’ll telegraph to the boys,” they heard him say, as he shot out the doorway.
Polly seized the cablegram hungrily, and dropped a kiss on it. Then over and over they read the blissful words:—
“Liverpool.
We are safe. Joel and the captain and a sailor named Jim were the last to leave the ship. Joel was hurt, but not seriously. Grandpapa was exhausted, but in a day or two we shall leave for Rome. Joel insists on it. He is to stay here a little longer, at the house of a good friend, Mr. Henry Benson, thirty-seven Harley Street.
Sophronia Pepper.”
“Now, you two children are going in the next boat to Liverpool,” Mr. Marlowe hurried in with a smile—“if you can catch it;” and he began to rummage in the newspaper-folder behind the door. “Let’s see; yes, Thursday the Abyssinia sails; day after to-morrow—plenty of time.”