the selfish, Theodore the callous, Theodore the voracious.
"An unsuccessful genius," she told herself. "He'll be
impossible. They're bad enough when they're successful."

But now her eyes, her thoughts, her longings, her long-pent
emotions were straining toward the boat whose great prow was
looming toward her, a terrifying bulk. The crowd awaiting
the ship was enormous. A dramatic enough scene at any time,
the great Hoboken pier this morning was filled with an
unrehearsed mob, anxious, thrilled, hysterical. The morning
papers had carried wireless news that the ship had been
chased by a French gunboat and had escaped only through
the timely warning of the Dresden, a German gunboat. That
had added the last fillip to an already tense situation.
Tears were streaming down half the faces upturned toward the
crowded decks. And from every side:

"Do you see her?"

"That's Jessie. There she is! Jessie!"

"Heh! Jim, old boy! Come on down!"

Fanny's eyes were searching the packed rails. "Ted!" she
called, and choked back a sob. "Teddy!" Still she did not
see him. She was searching, womanlike, for a tall, blondish
boy, with a sulky mouth, and humorous eyes, and an unruly
lock of hair that would insist on escaping from the rest and
straggling down over his forehead. I think she was even
looking for a boy with a violin in his arms. A boy in