“It’s awful at school without you,” said Jean. “Oh, and everybody sent you their love—even Miss Winter! And they say, ‘Come back soon.’ So do I.”
“Just as soon as ever we can. Oh, I don’t want to go a bit!” said poor Norah. “There can’t be any place as good as Australia.”
“Of course there isn’t. But you’ll come back.”
“Any more for the shore?”
“Oh, I must go!” cried Jean, and fled, after a final hug. Edward Meadows wrung Wally’s hand hard, and went slowly down the gangway—in his mind a helpless feeling that perhaps they had not done as much as they might for the little brother who had known neither mother nor father. On the last step he hesitated, turned, and went back.
“Remember you needn’t ever go short of money,” he said. It seemed such a foolish thing; and yet it was all he could find to say.
“Thanks, ever so much, Edward. I’m sure I’ll have plenty.”
“And—come back safe,” said his brother. He gripped his hand again, and went down. Already sailors were busy with the gangway ropes.
At the last moment, just as the cumbrous ladder began to be drawn up, a figure came racing down the wharf, uttering shouts that were incoherent through breathlessness. Behind him puffed a couple of porters, staggering under a leather suit-case and a Gladstone bag. The sailors above the gangway hesitated, and the newcomer sprang upon it.
“What are you up to, sir?” came the sharp voice of an officer. “Are you a passenger?”