Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her.
To-morrow we will get our pay
.......leave her"_

Rhoda Ammidon discovered herself leaning forward tensely, her hands shut
in excitement and emotion; and she relaxed with a happy laugh as the
_Nautilus_, with her yards exactly square and rigging taut, her sides and
figurehead and ports bright with newly laid on paint, moved to the wharf.

It seemed to her that Gerrit, descending a short stage from the deck,
looked markedly older than when he had last sailed. Yet he had a
surprisingly youthful air still; partly, she thought, from the manner in
which he wore his hair, falling in a waving thick line about his cheeks.
His mouth was at once fresh and severe, his face clean shaven, and his
eyes--if possible--more directly blue than ever.

"I'll take the ship's manifest to the Collector," he said, greeting them
and impatiently waving aside the vendors after the cook's slush, the
excited women and runners and human miscellany crowding forward. "Then
Java Head." He paused, speaking over his shoulder: "I'd be thankful if
you would send the barouche down in an hour or so."

Driving back, her hand on Jeremy Ammidon's knee, Rhoda wondered at
Gerrit's request. It was entirely unlike him to ride in the barouche;
rather he had always derided it in the terms of his calling. However,
unable to find a solution for her surprise, she listened to the other's
comments and speculations:

"I suppose William's first question will be about the cargo, and, of
course, I hope the ship has done well. But I'm just glad to have Gerrit