_ CHAPTER XV. "LAND, HO!"
Lucile opened her eyes slowly, lazily, and let them rove aimlessly about the bright cabin; then, chancing to come upon Jessie and Evelyn sleeping sweetly and peacefully, they stopped and focused resentfully.
"Nothing to do but sleep," she murmured, pushing back her rumpled curls and yawning prodigiously. "I wonder why it is I always have to wake up first," and then, her eyes happening to fall on Evelyn at this precise moment, she cried, "Oh, I saw you wink, Evelyn; you can't fool me! You're playing possum," and, springing quickly out of bed, she gave that young lady a vigorous shake, which caused her to open her eyes rather suddenly.
"Wh-what's the matter? Can't you let a fellow sleep?" she began, but the laughter in her eyes belied the sleepy tone, and Lucile hugged her and pulled her out of bed. "I'll admit you're a dabster, Evelyn, dear," she cried, "but you will have to get up early in the morning to get the best of your little friend."
Evelyn laughed merrily. "You whirlwind!" she cried. "Nobody has a chance to sleep when you're around."
"Don't be too sure of that; look at Jessie. She is still sleeping the sleep of the just."
"All right; let's make her get up, then. Even if she does want to sleep, why should we worry?"
"Evelyn," cried Lucy, shocked, "you're getting most horribly slangy."
"Oh, Lucy, you look so funny, trying to be severe in that rig! It can't be done!" And, with a laugh, she plumped down on something hard and lumpy, which proved to be Jessie's feet. The outraged owner objected promptly and emphatically.
"Oh, Jessie, I'm so sorry! Are those your feet?" cried Evelyn, in concern.
"No; they are Lucy's," said Jessie, coldly, rubbing the injured members gingerly.
Lucile laughed merrily. "Don't you go slandering my poor feet," she cried. "Anyway, it serves you right for being so lazy, Jess."
"Oh, does it? Well, I'll just prove you wrong by beating you all on deck, One, two, three--we're off!"
Then ensued a great amount of talk and laughter and wild scrambling for clothing that would get out of sight, until at the end of half an hour, our girls made a dash for the door at precisely the same instant.
"Oh, that's not fair," cried Evelyn, as Lucile wrenched open the door and ran straight into the arms of the rather stout, middle-aged matron who happened to be passing.
"Oh," she gasped, "I--I beg your pardon! I----"
"Look first, and you will save your apologies," said the sweet-tempered lady, who, to do her justice, was considerably shaken by the impact.
Lucile flushed scarlet, but walked on with her head in the air, thankful she had not expressed the thought that had rushed to her lips.
"Cranky old curmudgeon!" murmured Evelyn, vindictively. "It's lucky there aren't so many of them in the world."
To their surprise, Lucile began to laugh with great enjoyment. "Girls," she said, "did you hear her say 'woof' when we clashed?"
Two hours later they sighted the harbor, and on board pandemonium broke loose. Questions and answers were fired back and forth like bullets from a Gatling gun, and everywhere field glasses were glued to eager eyes.
"So that's England?" said Lucile. "Oh, Jessie, pinch me!"
"Won't. Love you too much," said Jessie, gazing intently toward the harbor, which became more and more distinct with every passing moment.
"Don't let any such soft scruples stand in your way," said Phil, administering the desired pinch with such good effect that Lucile jumped almost a foot and lowered her glasses to gaze reproachfully at him.
"Phil, that will be black and blue for a month," she said, with conviction. "You needn't have done it so hard."
"You didn't say not to," said Phil, with the air of injured innocence that sat so comically upon him. "Here comes old Charlie," he added, a minute later. "Wonder if he's found anything since last night."
"Who in the world is old Charlie?" inquired Jessie, mystified.
"Old Charlie? Why, old Charlie is short for Monsieur Charloix, of course," elucidated Phil, with the patronizing air of one speaking to a peculiarly stupid child.
Instantly the girls' interest in Liverpool harbor waned, as they turned smilingly to greet the historian of last night.
"I see Mademoiselle is entirely recovered from the seasickness," said he, turning to Lucile. "It is good to see you looking so well."
"Thank you, Monsieur. I suppose you will be glad to get back to France?"
"Oh, very glad, for, though I admire your America, it is not to me like my own country," said he, smiling.
It was not long before they were joined by other excited fellow-passengers, all talking at once about what they intended to do upon reaching land, and in the babble it was impossible to carry on any but a disjointed conversation, so the girls wisely gave up trying.
Nevertheless, Lucile had been more deeply impressed than any of the rest by the recital of Monsieur's tragic romance. It seemed, somehow, like the plays their guardian had described to them. Phil, the skeptical, had seemed inclined to think the story over-drawn, but the girls had emphatically disagreed with him, overwhelming him by sheer force of numbers. And way down in Lucile's heart was the hope that she would, sooner or later, hear the finishing chapter of the romance. Whether this premonition was inspired partly by her own desire or partly by the fact that, sooner or later, they would be in France itself, where they would have the opportunity of following the fortunes of the disconsolate Frenchman, cannot be determined, but certain it was, the premonition was there. As she had said to Jessie at the end of a long and excited discussion the night before, "Stranger things have happened."
And so, in the girl's eyes, and, in fact, in the eyes of all who had heard his story, even Phil, the stranger had taken on an added importance, the importance of the chief actor in a romantic drama.
"I would like to help," Lucile murmured, as the Frenchman excused himself and moved off down the deck. "I never saw any one look so wistful in all my life."
"No wonder," said Jessie, in the same tone. "If I had been through all he has, I'd never have lived to tell about it."
"And poor Jeanette!" Lucile mused on. "I'd give almost anything if I could bring them together again."
Jessie glanced at her friend curiously. "Perhaps you will tell me now that my dear old novels always exaggerate," she challenged.
"A little more of this sort of thing and I'll be able to believe anything," Lucile answered, with a rueful smile. "It surely is wonderful!"
"Oh, Lucy, dear, I may convert you yet," Jessie was crying gleefully, when she was interrupted by another crowd of fellow-voyagers, who, for the time being at least, cut her triumph short.
Later came the call to luncheon, and everybody hurried down to the dining-room, where the atmosphere of excitement and unrest prevailed to such a degree that people almost forgot to eat, or else bolted their meals in half the ordinary time, anxious not to miss a moment above decks.
Then, toward one o'clock in the afternoon, Mrs. Payton advised the girls to get everything ready, and see that nothing was left in the stateroom.
"We will dock in a few minutes," she explained, "and we don't want to leave everything until the last instant."
Down rushed the girls to the stateroom obediently, treading on each other's heels and not even bothering to apologize, for what was so everyday a thing as politeness at such a time?
Jessie and Evelyn waited in undisguised impatience while Lucile fumblingly fitted the key into the lock with fingers that trembled rebelliously.
"Oh, for goodness' sake, let me have it!" said Jessie, in desperation.
"Hold on a minute; there it is!" And as the door swung open, they tumbled rather than walked into the room.
"Oh, bother! Where did I put my comb?" moaned Evelyn, searching wildly under the dresser for the missing article. "You might know it would disappear just when I haven't any time to look for it. Are you sure you're not sitting on it, Lucy?"
"Of course not," denied Lucile; "but if you don't get off my suitcase this minute, Jessie Sanderson, I'll know the reason why."
"Here's your comb, Evelyn! Catch!" said Jessie, throwing the missing article toward her friend. "If you would only keep it over on your side instead----"
"Oh, if you talk so much you will never be ready, Jessie! Do hurry!" And so on in this fashion until, finally, the last thing was ready and they tumbled up on deck again, only to be swallowed up by a jostling, gesticulating throng intent, apparently, on getting nowhere in particular, and doing it, withal, with a perseverance that was truly admirable.
"Hello!" said Phil, elbowing his way through the crowd. "We dock in ten minutes. Just look at the harbor now;" and he was off again.
With difficulty they made their way to the rail and stood gazing at the scene with wondering eyes and parted lips. Craft of all sizes and descriptions plowed and snorted through the ruffled water, and everywhere was life and bustle and activity. And further back, past the lines of docks and warehouses, the girls could discern the spires and steeples of--England!
"Well," came Mr. Payton's gruff, hearty voice from just behind them, "how do you like your first glimpse of the Old World, eh? It won't be any time at all before you set foot upon it."
"Oh, Daddy, isn't it magnificent?" said Lucile, drawing a long breath. "It all looks just exactly the way I dreamed it would, though. Oh, I can't wait!" and she leaned far over the rail, as if by that means to bring it so much the nearer.
Her father's strong hand drew her back to safety, and he said, reprovingly, "Don't do that again, Lucy. Accidents will happen, you know."
"Even in the best-regulated families," finished Lucile, gaily.
Her father laughed, and pinched the tip of one pink ear fondly. "I suppose there is no use trying to make any of you serious at such a time," he said, with the resigned air of one giving up all hope; "but there is one little phrase that it will be well for you to remember, and that is, 'Safety first.'"
And with that fatherly admonition he left them, bidding them wait where they were until he could rejoin them. In a few minutes he returned, bringing his wife and Phil, declaring that nothing now remained to be done but walk off the ship when the time came.
The great "Mauretania" was very near her destination now, and was nosing her way carefully through the traffic, convoyed by two snorting and puffing tugs. The raucous shouts and cries of sailors and watermen came to their ears, with now and then a snatch of song from the decks of some tall, four-masted freighter. There were shouts of "aye, aye, sir" and "ship, ahoy," mingled with the rasping of cables and the clatter of cargo cranes--and behind all this noise and confusion lay the quaint, historic streets of Liverpool, and later, London, filled with the glory of ancient times.
The girls' eyes were large and dark with wonder and excitement as they lowered their glasses and looked at each other.
"Yes, you are awake," said Mrs. Payton, with a laugh, interpreting the look.
"Jessie looks as though she had just seen a ghost," said Phil.
A few minutes later the great liner was warped securely alongside the great landing stage, while the whistle shrieked a noisy greeting. Passengers hurried from one group to another, shaking hands in a final farewell with shipboard acquaintances whom they had come to know so well in so short a time. Porters hurried past, laden with luggage, and groups of eager passengers formed about the entrance to the gangways.
"I feel as though my hand had been shaken off," said Evelyn, regarding that very necessary appendage ruefully.
"Oh, there's Mrs. Applegate and Puss," said Lucile, and darted off through the crowd so suddenly that the girls could only follow her with their eyes.
"Lucile," cried Mrs. Payton, and then, as her voice would not carry above all the noise, "Go after her, Phil," she said. "If she gets separated from us now, we will have a hard time finding her."
Phil hurried off and was soon lost to sight in the swaying crowd.
"Oh, what did she do that for?" wailed Jessie. "If Lucy goes and gets lost now in all this crowd----"
"Don't worry; Phil will have her back in a jiffy," said Mr. Payton, soothingly, but the frown on his forehead betrayed his own anxiety.
The gangplanks were lowered, and the people had already begun to surge forward, and still no sign of either Lucile or Phil.
They eagerly searched the faces of the passers-by, nodding to some, yet scarcely seeing them, while Mr. Payton began to mutter something about "tying a string to that cyclonic young flyaway" when he got her back again.
Five minutes passed. The deck was beginning to be emptied of people, and they had begun to make their way slowly toward the gangplank, when Phil came rushing up to them, very red and very much out of breath.
"Well?" they cried together, and Mr. Payton took him by the shoulder, demanding, sternly, "Where is she?"
"Wouldn't it make you sick?" panted Phil, disgustedly. "Here I rush all over the boat trying to locate her, and get everybody scared to death, thinking she's fallen overboard or something, and then I find her down on the float there, talking to the----"
"What?" interrupted Mr. Payton, incredulously.
"Yes. Isn't it the limit?" said Phil, fanning himself with his hat. "Said she couldn't find her way back to you, so thought she'd wait with the Applegates at the foot of the gangplank; said she knew you would find her there."
The girls laughed hysterically, and even Mr. Payton's stern face relaxed; the action was so truly "Lucilian."
"Well, I suppose all we can do is to follow," said Mr. Payton, and Mrs. Payton added, pathetically, "I do wish Lucile would be a trifle less impulsive now and then; it might save us a good deal of trouble."
Mr. Payton had felt inclined to read his "cyclonic" young daughter a lecture, but the sight of her bright young face completely disarmed him, and he could only breathe a prayer of thankfulness that she was safe.
They said good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Applegate and their very diminutive daughter--whom somebody had fondly nicknamed "Puss"--and turned to follow the crowd. A short time later they set foot for the first time on the soil of the Old World.
"Where are we going, Dad, now that we're here?" asked Phil.
"To London, as fast as we can, by the train that connects with our steamer," said his father. "Stick together, everybody--here we are," and he hustled them before him into the long coach--for in England, you must remember, trains are not made up of cars, but of "coaches."
By this time it was getting late, and after vainly trying to distinguish objects through streaked and misty glass, the girls gave up and leaned back with a sigh of tired but absolute content.
"Well, we're here, and still going," said Lucile, happily, feeling for her friend's hands.
"We jolly well know that, my de-ar," came in sweet, falsetto tones from Phil. "We ought to have no end of sport, you know; rippin', what-what!"
"Bally goose!" murmured Jessie.
The reproof that rose to Mrs. Payton's lips was drowned in a shout of laughter. _