Just as the siren blew the first warning, a fine well-built young Minorcan hastened up the long gangway. A male friend helped him to carry his substantial trunk, and three girls followed closely. They had barely time to bid him farewell—one with a lingering embrace, the others with a warm handshake, before the gangway was withdrawn and water was widening between the exile and his native land.
For a little space he allowed his feelings to govern him, and with quivering shoulders wept unrestrainedly into his handkerchief in the intervals of waving it. Then, when the boat had rounded the horn of the bay and the beautiful city was out of sight, he put away his handkerchief, lit a cigarette, and resolutely turned his face towards the land of promise.
There were no first-class passengers at all. Our commercial friends, taking possession of the after-deck, formed themselves into an impromptu concert party, the little man acting as conductor, as with admirable voices they sang popular choruses.
Two ladies had come on board; but the steward, taking our hint of the morning, had given them a small cabin to themselves, as doubtless they preferred, and had reserved the whole of the large ladies' cabin for us. So once again we knew the luxury of travelling second-class on a Balearic Island steamer!
The voyage was pleasantly uneventful, and not rough enough to disturb us. We awoke to find ourselves entering Palma harbour, and to see the lovely land bathed in the warm glow of sunrise.
Soon we were in a carruaje, waving farewell to the comerciantes as in a band they walked towards their hotel. A few minutes later we had reached Son Españolet, had passed the house of our friend the Consul with its flagstaff and gaily painted shields, and were back again under the homely roof of the Casa Tranquila.
