bustle, the plank was drawn away, and the ship was clear. A tremor ran
through the vessel as the propeller began to move, and soon there was a
strip of water between the pier and the ship. Then a tiny tug-boat came
alongside, fastened itself to the steamer, and with calm assurance,
guided its big brother safely into the harbor and down the bay. The
people on shore merged into one dark object; the greetings became
indistinct; the great city itself, back of the pier, melted into a gray
mass as seen through the rain.

Chester Lawrence stood on the deck of the departing vessel and watched
the interesting scene. He stood as one apart from the crowd, having no
portion with either those on board or those left behind. He was a
spectator only. Not a soul in that mass of humanity on the pier, not one
in the big city, knew Chester Lawrence or had a thought for him. No one
cared whether his voyage would be pleasant or otherwise. There were no
tears for him, or fears that he would not return in safety. Of the
hundreds of waving handkerchiefs, none was meant for him; but as a last
show of good-fellowship and as a farewell greeting to his native land,
Chester waved once with the rest.

The rain continued as the ship dropped down the bay and came safely into
the open sea. Some of the passengers then hurried below, while others
lingered on deck to see as long as possible the fast-receding land.
Chester took his time. He had seen that his grips had been safely stowed
away in his state room, so he had no worries, as others seemed to have,
regarding his belongings. The ship hands (sailors they cannot now be
called) were busy clearing the deck and getting things into their proper
places. The vessel pointed fairly into the vast eastern sea. The land
became a dark, fast-thinning line on the western horizon, and then even
that was swallowed up in the mist of rain.