But as she put her hand on the rail the
schoolmaster drew her back.
"Thass ri! Come on, ole girl! Marsh--Marshella--come an' sleep
in--sh-sh-shtreets! Got no money, ole girl. Marsh--Marshella! _Parlez
vous Franshay?_ Eh? Ah, _oui, oui_. Marsh-la! I wan' a woman! Beau-ful
wi' shoulders--"
"Oh--oh," she cried, burying her face in her hands in horror.
"I should advise you to go below," said the schoolmaster's restrained
voice.
But she was irresistibly drawn to look at Louis, to plead with him with
her eyes, though her voice refused to work. And at that moment his
unsteady foothold on the streaming planks gave way, and he sat down
heavily. There were six or eight feet of black water now between the
ship and the quay, but Marcella could hear plainly the foolish laughter
of the other three as they tried to lift him to his feet. Ole Fred fell
beside him, smashing a bottle as he did so, while several cans of tinned
stuff went rolling out of his arms into the water. Louis sat, laughing
helplessly until he realized that Marcella's white face was vanishing
and he kissed his hand to her solemnly.
"Goo' ni' ole girl. Going fin' woman. Meet thee at Philippi! Ah, _oui,
oui_! Marsh--ella! Look! Noblest Rom' of them all! Elements so
mixshed--mixshed--can't stan' up, ole girl."
She heard no more for the laughter of the others who were all sitting
heaped together on the slippery boards now.
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