Every miss and her mamma tiptoed for a view of the Prince and his party, who came in at ten, taking their seats on a dais at one side of the crowded floor. The Prince sat with his hands folded before him, like one in a reverie. Beside him were the Duke of Newcastle, a big, stern man, with an aggressive red beard; the blithe and sparkling Earl of St Germans, then Steward of the Royal Household; the curly Major Teasdale; the gay Bruce, a major-general, who behaved himself always like a lady. Suddenly the floor sank beneath the crowd of people, who retired in some disorder. Such a compression of crinoline was never seen as at that moment, when periphery pressed upon periphery, and held many a man captive in the cold embrace of steel and whalebone. The royal party retired to its rooms again and carpenters came in with saws and hammers. The floor repaired, an area was roped off for dancing - as much as could be spared. The Prince opened the dance with Mrs Governor Morgan, after which other ladies were honoured with his gallantry.
I saw Mrs Fuller in one of the boxes and made haste to speak with her. She had just landed, having left Hope to study a time in the Conservatory of Leipzig.
'Mrs Livingstone is with her,'said she, 'and they will return together inApril.
'Mrs Fuller, did she send any word to me?'I enquired anxiously.
'Did she give you no message?
'None,'she said coldly, 'except one to her mother and father, which I have sent in a letter to them.
I left her heavy hearted, went to the reporter's table and wrote my story, very badly I must admit, for I was cut deep with sadness.
Then I came away and walked for hours, not caring whither. A great homesickness had come over me. I felt as if a talk with Uncle Eb or Elizabeth Brower would have given me the comfort I needed. I walked rapidly through dark, deserted streets. A steeple clock was striking two, when I heard someone coming hurriedly on the walk behind me. I looked over my shoulder, but could not make him out in the darkness, and yet there was something familiar in the step. As he came near I felt his hand upon my shoulder.
'Better go home, Brower,'he said, as I recognised the voice of Trumbull. 'You ve been out a long time. Passed you before tonight.
'Why didn't you speak?
'You were preoccupied.
'Not keeping good hours yourself,'I said.
'Rather late,'he answered, 'but I am a walker, and I love the night.
It is so still in this part of the town.
We were passing the Five Points.
'When do you sleep,'I enquired.
'Never sleep at night,'he said, 'unless uncommonly tired. Out every night more or less. Sleep two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon - that's all I require. Seen the hands o'that clock yonder on every hour of the night.
He pointed to a lighted dial in a near tower.
Stopping presently he looked down at a little waif asleep in a doorway, a bundle of evening papers under his arm. He lifted him tenderly.
'Here, boy,'he said, dropping corns in the pocket of the ragged little coat, 'I ll take those papers - you go home now.
We walked to the river, passing few save members of 'the force, who always gave Trumbull a cheery 'hello, Cap!'We passed wharves where the great sea horses lay stalled, with harnesses hung high above them, their noses nodding over our heads; we stood awhile looking up at the looming masts, the lights of the river craft.
'Guess I've done some good,'said he turning into Peck Slip. 'Saved two young women. Took 'em off the streets. Fine women now both of them - respectable, prosperous, and one is beautiful. Man who s got a mother, or a sister, can't help feeling sorry for such people.
We came up Frankfort to William Street where we shook hands and parted and I turned up Monkey Hill. I had made unexpected progress with Trumbull that night. He had never talked to me so freely before and somehow he had let me come nearer to hun than I had ever hoped to be. His company had lifted me out of the slough a little and my mind was on a better footing as I neared the chalet.
Riggs's shop was lighted - an unusual thing at so late an hour.
Peering through the window I saw Riggs sleeping at his desk An old tin lantern sat near, its candle burning low, with a flaring flame, that threw a spray of light upon him as it rose and fell. Far back in the shop another light was burning dimly. I lifted the big iron latch and pushed the door open. Riggs did not move. I closed the door softly and went back into the gloom. The boy was also sound asleep in his chair. The lantern light flared and fell again as water leaps in a stopping fountain. As it dashed upon the face of Riggs I saw his eyes half-open. I went close to his chair. As I did so the light went out and smoke rose above the lantern with a rank odour.
'Riggs!'I called but he sat motionless and made no answer.
The moonlight came through the dusty window lighting his face and beard. I put my hand upon his brow and withdrew it quicidy. I was in the presence of death. I opened the door and called the sleeping boy. He rose out of his chair and came toward me rubbing his eyes.
'Your master is dead,'I whispered, 'go and call an officer.
Riggs's dream was over - he had waked at last. He was in port and I doubt not Annie and his mother were hailing him on the shore, for I knew now they had both died far back in that long dream of the old sailor.
My story of Riggs was now complete. It soon found a publisher because it was true.
'All good things are true in literature,'said the editor after he had read it. 'Be a servant of Truth always and you will be successful.'
