“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
though she was firmly wedged among a crowd of at least fifty other persons. With exasperating deliberation the steamer floated dockward, foot by foot. The heads at the end of the pier grew bigger and bigger.
“Why, it is n’t John at all!” exclaimed the chagrined lady. “I never saw that man before in my life.”
With streams of water pouring from her vents down her huge black sides the Pavonia was shoved, pushed and hauled into her moorings amid a terrific bellowing of orders from the bridge. The relatives and friends on the dock, having recognized with ostentatious excitement the relatives and friends on board, repeated the exchange of salutations from moment to moment in a gradual diminuendo of enthusiasm.
“Hello! Hello! Mary! Here I am!” “Hello, old sport!” “Have a good trip?” “Fine!” “Hello, father—hello!” “Yes! Got it in my bag!” “Yes! Oh, fine!” “How ’s maw!” “Rotten! Yes, I lost her overboard—” “Oh, yes, Rome was great, but you oughter see Parus—it was simply fine!—fine!” “Yes! I see her! She's fine!—278
