"Oh, I shall be all right, dear," Mrs. O'Brien insisted with tired cheerfulness.
"I've a good mind to drop my bag and carry you!" her husband declared.
"Oh, Owen, what a first appearance for the wife of the ship's surgeon! Let me at least be dignified."
Beyond the small figure of their guide the Albany loomed, slowly taking shape in the dark, big, very mysterious.
"I bet we came to the wrong entrance," Denis observed.
Mr. O'Brien handed the guide a tip. "I'm afraid we did," he said.
The guide disappeared with a "thankysir"; a steward's head bobbed up from the hatchway and shouted out directions. Mr. O'Brien and Denis helped the others along a wet, slippery board, and over the ship's side.
The saloon looked more cheerful; deserted as it was, it wore quite a festive air after the wet and darkness outside.
In the cabin they hung up a few things, to give it a more homelike air, and because it was easier to do something than not. They procured coffee from the steward, but no one wanted it. Everyone pretended they did, except Sheila Pat, who never pretended. Mrs. O'Brien made her drink it.
"You are cold and wet, dear; it—I—will—"