Our boat docked at Hoboken, and by tipping right and left I managed
to be the very first passenger down the gangway. I half ran, half
slid, but I landed in Dad's arms.
My boxes and bags passed through the custom-house with flying
colors. But my trunks--I couldn't even find them all. Five of them
were stacked in the "M" division, but the other two. . . . Then
there was my maid's trunk to look for under the "V's" (her name is
Valentine). Dad and I were commencing at "A," prepared to got
through the whole alphabet, if necessary, when the nice young man
stepped up and, raising his hat, asked if he might be of any
service. He asked Dad, but he looked at me.
"Oh, If you please!" I said "I've lost two trunks. My brand is a
white, 'M' in a red circle."
"I noticed them in the 'R' pile" he replied. "I'll have them moved
to the 'M's' right away."
"Now that's what I call being decent," said Dad, as soon as the
young man had left us. "Did you notice, he didn't wear a uniform?
Probably an inspector, or something of the sort, eh, Elizabeth?"
"Well--er--not exactly," I managed to say. "The fact is, Dad, he
came over on the boat with me, and--"
Dad looked thoughtful.
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