“That was nice of Mart,” whispered Nancy, as they entered their stateroom, and put things in order.
“We must go up on the promenade deck, girls,” called Miss Ashton presently, “and get our chairs placed where we want them. The crowds will soon be coming on board, and the desirable places will all be taken.”
They decided on the right side of the steamer, near an enclosed portion of the deck, which would help keep off some of the wind.
“We’d better each have a rug, too,” said Miss Ashton, to the deck steward, who was putting tags on the chairs.
“What are those for?” asked Martha.
“Your stateroom number is on the tag; and no one but the holder of that room can use the chair. There is no danger, then, of finding it occupied when you come back from a stroll.”
The girls walked about in the sunshine, inspecting the boat and their fellow passengers, and looking at Boston, spread out along the water front.
Down at the purser’s office was the usual crowd trying to straighten out reservations; to get a better stateroom, or to get some kind of accommodations when there were no more to be had. Women with small children wandered aimlessly about the steamer, or found cozy corners in which to settle down. Many of the passengers watched from the port side while dozens of automobiles were put on board. A small baby cooed delightedly over its bottle, as it lay on a settee in the salon, blissfully oblivious of the noise and confusion all about.
Soon came the cry—“All ashore who are going ashore!”
Passengers bade good-bye to friends and relatives who had accompanied them on board. The great cables were released, the gangplank was pulled in, and the steamer began to move slowly and majestically away from the wharf.