The Gray Dawn | Page 7

never elsewhere been seen plying for public hire, brightly

painted, highly varnished, lined with silks, trimmed with solid silver.
The harnesses were heavily mounted with the same metal. On their
boxes sat fashionable creatures, dressed, not in livery, but throughout in
the very latest of the late styles, shod with varnished leather, gloved
with softest kid. Sherwood drove skilfully to the very edge of the roped
space, pushing aside the crowd on foot. They growled at him savagely.
He paid no attention to them, and they gave way. The buggy came to a
stop. The horses, tossing their heads, rolling their eyes, stamping their
little hoofs, nevertheless stood without need of further attention.
Now the brass bands blared with a sudden overwhelming blast of sound,
the crowd cheered noisily; the runners for the hotels began to bark like
a pack of dogs. With a vast turmoil of paddle wheels, swirling of white
and green waters, bellowing of speaking trumpets, throwing of
handlines and scurrying of deck hands and dock hands, the Panama
came to rest. After considerable delay the gangplank was placed. The
passengers began to disembark, facing the din much as they would
have faced the buffeting of a strong wind. This was the cream of the
entertainment for which the crowd had gathered; for which, indeed, the
Sherwoods had made their excursion. Each individual received his
meed of comment, sometimes audible and by no means always
flattering. Certainly in variety both of character and of circumstance
they offered plenty of material. From wild, half-civilized denizens of
Louisiana's canebrakes, clinging closely to their little bundles and their
long rifles, to the most polished exquisites of fashion they offered all
grades and intermediates. Some of them looked rather bewildered.
Some seemed to know just what to do and where to go. Most dove into
the crowd with the apparent idea of losing their identity as soon as
possible. The three magnificent hacks were filled, and managed, with
much plunging and excitement, to plow a way through the crowd and
so depart. Amusing things happened to which the Sherwoods called
each other's attention. Thus a man, burdened with a single valise,
ducked under the ropes near them. A paper boy happened to be
standing near. The passenger offered the boy a fifty- cent piece.
"Here, boy," said he, "just carry this valise for me."

The paper boy gravely contemplated the fifty cents, dove into his
pocket, and produced another.
"Here, man," said he, handing them both to the traveller, "take this and
carry it yourself."
One by one the omnibuses filled and departed. The stream of
passengers down the gangplank had ceased. The crowd began to thin.
Sherwood gathered his reins to go. Mrs. Sherwood suddenly laid her
hand on his forearm.
"Oh, the poor thing!" she cried, her voice thrilling with compassion.
A young man and a steward were supporting a girl down the gangplank.
Evidently she was very weak and ill. Her face was chalky white, with
dark rings under the eyes, her lips were pale, and she leaned heavily on
the men. Although she could not have heard Mrs. Sherwood's
exclamation of pity, she happened to look up at that instant, revealing a
pair of large, dark, and appealing eyes. Her figure, too, dressed in a
plain travelling dress, strikingly simple but bearing the unmistakable
mark of distinction, was appealing; as were her exquisite, smooth baby
skin and the downward drooping, almost childlike, curves of her lips.
The inequalities of the ribbed gangplank were sufficient to cause her to
stumble.
"She is very weak," commented Mrs. Sherwood.
"She is--or would be--remarkably pretty," added Sherwood. "I wonder
what ails her."
Arrived at the foot of the gangplank the young man removed his hat
with an air of perplexity, and looked about him. He was of the rather
florid, always boyish type; and the removal of his hat had revealed a
mat of close- curling brown hair, like a cap over his well-shaped head.
The normal expression of his face was probably quizzically humorous,
for already the little lines of habitual half laughter were sketched about
his eyes.

"A plunger," said John Sherwood to himself, out of his knowledge of
men; then as the young man glanced directly toward him, disclosing the
colour and expression of his eyes, "a plunger in something," he
amended, revising his first impression.
But now the humorous element was quite in abeyance, and a faint
dismay had taken its place. One arm supporting the drooping girl, he
was looking up and down the wharf. Not a vehicle remained save the
heavy drays already backing up to receive their loads of freight. The
dock hands had dropped and were coiling the line that had separated
the crowd from the landing stage.
With another exclamation the woman in the carriage