“Certainly I am,” responded the breathless one—a short, stout individual by no means fitted for violent exercise. “Kindly send some one for my baggage.”
A couple of sailors ran down the gangway and took the burdens from the panting porters. The late arrival puffed up the steps.
“You cut it pretty fine,” was the comment of the officer.
“Who ever heard of a ship being punctual before?” was the reply. “Extraordinary—almost ridiculous!”
The officer laughed in spite of himself.
“It’s never safe to bank on the Perseus being unpunctual,” he remarked. “Lucky you caught us. Haul away!”
The gangway came up slowly. Three piercing whistles shrilled from the siren. Down on the wharf, the people who had seemed so many on the ship now appeared dwindled to a little huddled crowd, with faces upturned; it was hard to pick out individuals.
Norah leaned on the rail, looking down—suddenly realising that it was indeed “good-bye.” The ship was drawing out slowly—foot by foot the water appeared between her side and the pier—unpleasant, dirty water, full of floating rubbish. A little way out it sparkled to meet them, a dancing mass of foam-flecked blue. But Norah could not see that side now—only the little widening strip of brown water, and the wharf with its wistful faces. Her own, as she looked, was very wistful. Beyond, sea and sky might be blue, calling to her—but on this side lay Australia.
