Her dress was whisked,
as if for microscopic inspection; her face was washed; and her
finger-nails were scrubbed with the hard convent nail-brush, until
the disciplined little tips ached with a pristine soreness. And still
there were hours to wait, and still the boat added up delays. But she
arrived at last, after all, with not more than the usual and expected
difference between the actual and the advertised time of arrival.
There was extra blowing and extra ringing, shouting, commanding,
rushing up the gangway and rushing down the gangway. The clerks,
sitting behind tables on the first deck, were plied, in the twinkling
of an eye, with estimates, receipts, charges, countercharges, claims,
reclaims, demands, questions, accusations, threats, all at topmost
voices. None but steamboat clerks could have stood it. And there were
throngs composed of individuals every one of whom wanted to see the
captain first and at once: and those who could not get to him shouted
over the heads of the others; and as usual he lost his temper and
politeness, and began to do what he termed "hustle."
"Captain! Captain!" a voice called him to where a hand plucked his
sleeve, and a letter was thrust toward him. "The cross, and the name
of the convent." He recognized the envelop of the mother superior. He
read the duplicate of the letter given by the sisters.
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