Certain psychologists say that we forget only what we wish to forget,
but it would be a gross libel to say that poor Miss Smith had wanted to
forget her ticket. Quite the contrary! She was terribly ashamed of
herself, and terribly worried.
“I’ll go back and get it,” she said.
They were all on the pier then, and other passengers, who had not
forgotten their tickets, were showing them and going aboard. Trunks and
bags were being trundled past. Miss Smith caught a glimpse of the
gangplank, a curtain of fine, steady rain, and, behind that curtain, the
deck of the ship. There was magic about that ship, as there is about all
ships. There was the ship smell, as exciting as gunpowder.
“I’ll _rush_ back and get it!” cried Miss Smith.
That was really the beginning of the whole thing, and quite as strange
as any of the other things that happened. For Miss Smith to cry, in that
eager voice, that she would “rush,” for Miss Smith to be so flushed and
starry-eyed, for Miss Smith to be saying to herself, “Oh, I wouldn’t
miss going for _anything_!”--all this was nothing less than marvelous.
“You’ve just about got time,” said Mr. Patterson severely.
She rushed madly. A taxi had just drawn up outside, and a young man
dashed out of it in a frightful hurry. Miss Smith seemed vaguely to
remember his face, but it didn’t matter. She was in the taxi almost as
soon as his foot touched the ground. She was off. She was urging on the
taxi, in silence, with clenched hands. She would not miss that ship. She
wanted to go! She would go!
Like a whirlwind she tore up the stairs of the sedate West Side house.
She pulled open her bureau drawer so violently that it came out
altogether and fell to the floor. There was the ticket. She thrust it
into her coat pocket, flew down the stairs, past the astonished
servants, hopped into the taxi again, and was off. How thankful she was
now that Mr. Patterson, in his characteristic fashion, had insisted upon
their going down to the ship in good time!
The rain was coming down steadily. The taxi splashed through puddles,
and sometimes skidded a little, but what cared she? She felt triumphant
and happy. She felt sure she would not miss the ship; and she did not.
The crowd standing on the pier and the crowd standing on the deck,
separated by the curtain of rain, saw a flushed and breathless young
woman hurry up the gangplank at the very last moment. Up went the plank,
a minute later the whistle blew, and they were off.
Still a little breathless, Miss Smith stood by the railing. In the
excitement of the moment she felt inclined to wave her hand, or her
handkerchief, as the people about her were doing; but that was absurd,
for she wasn’t saying good-by to any one, wasn’t leaving any one behind.
She turned, instead, to look for the Pattersons.
They were not in sight, and Miss Smith, being a very inexperienced
traveler, did not quite know how to find them. As they were all on the
same ship, however, this did not worry her very much. She found a
steward to lead her to the stateroom that she was to share with Mrs.
Patterson and Gladys, and knocked on the door. No one answered. She
opened the door and went in. Not a trace of a Patterson there--no
baggage except her own suit case. She had had a steamer trunk, too, but
it was not there.
Miss Smith sat down in a wicker armchair and waited. She meant to wait
patiently, but as a matter of fact she waited delightedly. The throb of
the engines set her blood dancing. Everything she saw was
fascinating--the three berths so neatly made up, the snugness, the
coziness of this little cabin, with the rain falling outside. She knew
that she had been very stupid and careless about the ticket, and that
Mr. and Mrs. Patterson were surprised and not very well pleased; but
even that couldn’t disturb her just now. She was on a ship, sailing the
sea!
The sound of a bugle interrupted her reverie. Common sense, and another
and stronger inner voice, told her that this must mean lunch. There was
a little book hanging up on the wall. She looked in it, and learned that
lunch began at half past twelve. It was noon now.
“Perhaps they’ll wait for me in the dining room--I mean, the dining
saloon,” thought Miss Smith. “I wonder if I ought to go down there or
wait here! I wonder what I ought to do!”
She sat where she was for another very long half hour. Then she washed
her hands, straightened her hat, and set forth, rather timidly. She felt
that the Pattersons were keeping away from her in order to show their
disapproval, and she didn’t altogether blame them.
That apologetic look, that little shadow of a doubtful smile, were
singularly becoming to her. What is more, the damp air had made her hair
curl quite riotously, and the glow of her recent excitement still
lingered on her face. Mr. Powers saw her standing there, looking
anxiously about the dining saloon, and he thought he had never seen such
a pretty little thing.