Dick Lester of Kurrajong

by Mary Grant Bruce

"No sign of her, mother. It really will be ten o'clock."

"I was afraid so," said his mother, laughing, while the chauffeur grinned broadly. "Jump in and we'll go for a spin while we wait."

Dick would have preferred to stay on the wharf, straining his eyes to the horizon. But he obeyed, and they went careering over strange roads that neither saw, though the sense of swift motion helped them in a measure. Still, it was a relief when at length the car turned, and again they spun towards the pier. The chauffeur had judged his time well; the wharf was crowded now, and, just beyond the breakwater, a great ship loomed through a little drifting mist.

"That's her," said the chauffeur, half-turning. "Steady—it'll take her a quarter of an hour to get aside yet." This to Dick, who was wrestling with a stiff door-handle before the car could stop.

They edged through the throng on the pier to where a dock-hand told them the mail steamer's gangway would come down. She was close in now, they could see sailors on board getting the great gangway ready. The passengers were crowding along every yard of the deck railing; it was impossible to pick out one face amidst the mass, no matter how hard they might strain their eyes. Everywhere, people were waving to their friends ashore, shouting, coo-eeing; Dick coo-ee'd too, but with a kind of helpless irritation at being unable to see the only face that mattered. The minutes dragged on, while the ship edged her way in, yard by yard; and still they scanned her decks in vain.

"Oh, mother, isn't it awful?" Dick's voice had a quiver in it. "Do you think he's really there?"

"Of course he's there, son." The voice was little more than a whisper.

Suddenly, and together, they saw him. The crowd was densest on the deck near the gangway, but he must have taken up his position very early, for he was in front of everyone, talking to the officer in charge of the landing operations. He towered over the other people; six foot three of lean, muscular activity, with a clean-shaven face, bronzed and keen. Dick heard his mother catch her breath, and he slipped his hand through her arm. Then, as if their upward gaze drew him, John Lester turned and looked down, straight into their eyes. His cap was pulled low on his brow, but they saw the sudden light that sprang into his face—the quick smile that was a caress, singling them out from the crowd. He took off his cap with a swift movement, and stood bareheaded, his eyes never moving from his wife and son. So they stood, until, with a rattle, the gangway came down—and while it still shook from the impact, John Lester ran down it lightly, the first man to leave the Ohio. He put an arm round them both, hustling them gently towards the gangway.

"Come up," he said, a little breathlessly. "I've squared the man on top."

The officer greeted them with a smile as they mounted—it was against rules, but John Lester had a way of getting what he wanted. He edged a way for them through the crowding passengers with courteous little apologies; somehow they found themselves in the clear space behind the throng, hurrying along the deck—and in a moment they were in a single-berth deck-cabin, and the door was shut, and he was holding them as if he could never let them go.