We secured a deck-hand to take them into our stateroom, and,
after seeing them disposed of, went out on deck to watch the last
preparations for departure. The pier was in that state of hurly-burly
which may be witnessed only at the sailing of a transatlantic liner.
The last of the freight was being got aboard with frantic haste; the
boat and pier were crowded with people who had come to bid their
friends good-by; two tugs were puffing noisily alongside, ready to
pull us out into the stream. My companion appeared quite strong, and
seemed to enjoy the bustle and hubbub as much as I did. He flushed
with pleasure, as he caught sight of our senior pushing his way toward
us.
"Why, this is kind of you, sir!" he cried, grasping his hand. "I know
what the work of the office must be, with both of us deserting you
this way."
"Tut, tut!" and Mr. Graham smiled at us. "You deserve a vacation,
don't you? I couldn't let you go without telling you good-by.
Besides," he added, "I learned just this morning that two very dear
friends of mine are taking this boat--Mrs. Kemball and her
daughter--the widow of Jim Kemball, you know."
Mr. Royce nodded. I, too, recalled the name--Jim Kemball had been one
of the best men at the New York bar twenty years before, and must
inevitably have made a great name for himself but for his untimely
death.
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