But kind fortune saw fit to add a last sweet drop to Emma McChesney's already brimming cup. As she reached the docks on the day of her departure, clad in cool, crisp white from hat to shoes, her quick eye spied a red-faced, rotund, familiar figure disembarking from the New York boat, just arrived. The fates, grinning, had planned this moment like a stage-manager. Fat Ed Meyers came heavily down the gangplank. His hat was off. He was mopping the top of his head with a large, damp handkerchief. His gaze swept over the busy landing-docks, darted hither and thither, alighted on Emma McChesney with a shock, and rested there. A distinct little shock went through that lady, too. But she waited at the foot of her boat's gangway until the unbelievably nimble Meyers reached her. 

 He was a fiery spectacle. His cheeks were distended, his eyes protuberant. He wasted no words. They understood each other, those two. 

 "Coming or going?" 

 "Going," replied Emma McChesney. 

 "Clean up this—this Bonez Areez, too?" 

 "Absolutely." 

 "Did, huh?" 

 Meyers stood a moment panting, his little eyes glaring into her calm ones. 

 "Well, I beat you in Bahia, anyway." he boasted. 

 Emma McChesney snapped her fingers blithely. 

 "Bah, for Bahia!"  She took a step or two up the gangplank, and turned. "Good-by, Ed. And good luck. I can recommend the radishes, but pass up the beef. Dangerous." 

 Fat Ed Meyers, still staring, began to stutter unintelligibly, his lips moving while no words came. Emma McChesney held up a warning hand. 

 "Don't do that, Ed! Not in this climate! A man of your build, too! I'm surprised. Consider the feelings of your firm!" 

 Fat Ed Meyers glared up at the white-clad, smiling, gracious figure. His hands unclenched. The words came. 

 Prev. P 20/110 next