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But there comes a bright evening, and the monster liner's journey is all but over; three hours more of steaming and she will be safe. A little schooner comes skimming up on the port side and the schooner is to the liner as a chip is to a tree-trunk.
She developed her first betting system, presently discovered several holes in it, and began to develop another. The loudspeaker system went on again. She was too absorbed to pay much attention to it at first. Then she suddenly straightened up and listened, frowning. The man speaking now was the liner's First Security Officer. He was being very polite and regretful.
"I mistrust I hear somethin'. Ef it's anything, I'm best where I am so's to get at things." It was a forlorn little jingle; the thick air seemed to pinch it off, and in the pauses Harvey heard the muffled shriek of a liner's siren, and he knew enough of the Banks to know what that meant.
The vessel was lucky, and the "high liner's" share eight hundred and fifty odd dollars came to Joel. But he had been out of work for some time, and was in debt; yet he honestly paid off every dollar he owed, and had over six hundred dollars left. With this he felt rich, and his wife thought their home ought to be more comfortably furnished.
The metallic voice of the dispatcher echoed through the waiting room of the subspaceport on the outskirts of Marsport and the passengers began moving toward the field gate, where the stewards of the ship checked each ticket against the liner's seating plan.
Raffles was not on board, nor did I really look for him till we reached the liner's side. And then I looked in vain. His face was not among the many that fringed the rail; his hand was not of the few that waved to friends. I climbed aboard in a sudden heaviness. I had no ticket, nor the money to pay for one. I did not even know the number of my room.
I'm able to wring, in fact, just a touch of relish out of all this migrational movement and stir, and Casa Grande itself is already beginning to remind me of a liner's stateroom about the time the pilot comes aboard and the donkey-engines start to clatter up with the trunk-nets. For three whole days I simply ached to get at the Harris Ranch shack, just to show what I could do with it.
With the land of promise within biscuit-throw and the tugs bustling about the great liner's skirts like little dogs about their mistress, he descended to details. "I shall get a room somewhere," said Uncle Chris, "and start looking about me. I wonder if the old Holland House is still there. I fancy I heard they'd pulled it down. Capital place.
The craft immediately began to edge nearer and nearer to the liner's rail, keeping speed so exactly with her that the threshold of the door touched the end of the bridge without a perceptible jar. Then the flannel-clad figure jumped on to the bridge and held out his hand to the Captain. As they shook hands he said in a low tone, "I want a word or two in private with you, as soon as possible."
When the two steamers' bridges were level, the liner's captain touched his cap, and a crowd of well-dressed passengers below him listened wonderingly. "Afternoon, Captain. Got 'em all?" "Afternoon, Captain. Oh, we didn't lose any. But a few drowned their silly selves before we started to shepherd them." "What ship was it? The French boat would be hardly due yet." "No, the old Grosser Carl.
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