He was something between the sheep-dog and the shepherd.

But what a fool — what a fool he had been not to bring any glasses! There wasn’t a pair of glasses between the whole lot of them.

“Curious thing, Mr Scott, that none of us thought of glasses. We might have been able to stir ’em up a bit. We might have managed a little signalling. Don’t hesitate to land. Natives harmless. Or: A welcome awaits you. All is forgiven. What? Eh?”

Mr Hammond’s quick, eager glance, so nervous and yet so friendly and confiding, took in everybody on the wharf, roped in even those old chaps lounging against the gangways. They knew, every man-jack of them, that Mrs Hammond was on that boat, and he was so tremendously excited it never entered his head not to believe that this marvellous fact meant something to them too. It warmed his heart towards them. They were, he decided, as decent a crowd of people — Those old chaps over by the gangways, too— fine, solid old chaps. What chests — by Jove! And he squared his own, plunged his thick-gloved hands into his pockets, rocked from heel to toe.

“Yes, my wife’s been in Europe for the last ten months. On a visit to our eldest girl, who was married last year. I brought her up here, as far as Auckland, myself. So I thought I’d better come and fetch her back. Yes, yes, yes.” The shrewd grey eyes narrowed again and searched anxiously, quickly, the motionless liner. Again his overcoat was unbuttoned. Out came the thin, butter-yellow watch again, and for the twentieth — fiftieth — hundredth time he made the calculation.

“Let me see, now. It was two fifteen when the doctor’s launch went off. Two fifteen. It is now exactly twenty-eight minutes past four. That is to say, the doctor’s been gone two hours and thirteen minutes. Two hours and thirteen minutes! Whee-ooh!” He gave a queer little half-whistle and snapped his watch to again. “But I think we should have been told if there was anything up — don’t you, Mr Gaven?”

“Oh yes, Mr Hammond! I don’t think there’s anything to — anything to worry about,” said Mr Gaven, knocking out his pipe against the heel of his shoe. “At the same time—”

“Quite so! Quite so!” cried Mr Hammond. “Dashed annoying!” He paced quickly up and down and came back again to his stand between Mr and Mrs Scott and Mr Gaven. “It’s getting quite dark, too,” and he waved his folded umbrella as though the dusk at least might have had the decency to keep off for a bit. But the dusk came slowly, spreading like a slow stain over the water. Little Jean Scott dragged at her mother’s hand.

“I wan’ my tea, mammy!” she wailed.

“I expect you do,” said Mr Hammond. “I expect all these ladies want their tea.” And his kind, flushed, almost pitiful glance roped them all in again.