a gulp, then sat down with the tumbler in his hand. All of a sudden something disappeared from in front of one of the portholes. His heart gave a little jump. They were moving! He sprang up and hurried to the doorway. Slowly but unmistakably they were gliding away from the dock. Already a lengthening line of people were waving their handkerchiefs and shouting farewells. Around them in the river little tugs were screaming, and the ropes from the dock had been thrown loose. Philip stepped to the rail, his heart growing lighter at every moment. His ubiquitous steward, laden with hand luggage, paused for a moment.
“I sent a gentleman down to your stateroom just before the steamer started, sir,” he announced, “gentleman of the name of Gayes, who wanted to say good-by to you.”
“Bad luck!” Philip answered. “I must have just missed him.”
The steward turned around and pointed to the quay.
“There he is, sir—elderly gentleman in a grey suit, and a bunch of violets in his buttonhole. He’s looking straight at you.”
Philip raised his cap and waved it with enthusiasm. After a moment’s hesitation, the other man did the same. The steward collected his belongings and shuffled off.
“He picked you out, sir, all right,” he remarked as he disappeared in the companionway.
Philip turned away with a little final wave of the hand.
“Glad I didn’t miss him altogether,” he observed cheerfully. “Good- afternoon, Mr. Gayes! Good-by, England!”
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