Over an hour it had taken her to penetrate from the outer fringes of the crowd, by way of the baggage-room, to this gate in the barrier, chained and barred. On the other side of it, an irate dragon on guard, ready to breathe fire and brimstone at the mere notion of letting anybody by. When Hildegarde signed to him, he only roared out over the heads of the people, “Nine o’clock’s the time everybody was told to come on board. If you don’t like waitin’ outside till the proper time you can go home.” Hildegarde tried to convey across the barrier that she was acting under instructions. “Keep back,” roared the dragon, quite as if he feared the tall figure might contemplate vaulting over. “It is a special arrangement,” she said quite low, “made by the purser himself.” “Yes, yes, very likely.” “I assure you the purser—” “God A’mighty, what purser?” Still Hildegarde spoke as confidentially as possible. “The purser of this ship.” “What’s the name o’ the purser who could do a thing like that?” “Mr. Brown is his name.” “Brown ain’t the name o’ the purser o’ this ship. Guess again!” The crowd exulted. The dodge had failed. “Isn’t this the _Los Angeles_?” “Yes, by—!” A gush of oaths before which the girl gasped as if a bowl of ice-cold water had been, dashed in her face. “Oh-h!—if Louis heard that! Luckily he will never know. He’s out driving with Bella.” She took her courage in both hands. “I shall report you if you don’t let me by. Your own agent introduced me to the _Los Angeles_ purser, and called him Mr. Brown.” “Purser, purser”—more blasphemy—“I wouldn’t let the _owner_ of this ship on board before nine o’clock.” “Mr. Brown said—” “Brown! Brown!” shouted the man, goaded to frenzy by this feminine obstinacy. “Look yere, if he was Black and the devil himself I wouldn’t let ye in after the orders I’ve had.” The crowd chuckled and swayed. The tall girl craned her neck over the barrier in the uncertain light. She had caught sight of a lurking figure uncommonly like the fat purser’s, seeming to seek shelter behind a bale of merchandise. “Why, there he is now,” she said quite low. “Mr. Brown!” No answer, and the figure vanished. “Mr. Brown!” she called, in a clear, penetrating voice. “I’m here, as you told me to be. Mr. B—” Hurriedly the tun-bellied figure reappeared and whispered to the dragon. A brief low-voiced altercation between the two men. Only one word distinguishable to the girl on the other side of the barrier, “noospaper.” A growling menace of “trouble sure” from the dragon, and then the gate opened a cautious crack. The noospaper woman and her suit-case were plucked from the murmuring crowd and set upon the ship. She turned to thank her rescuer. For all his amplitude he had melted into air. On the far side of the barrier, under the electric light, the crowd murmured and swayed, coupling the name of Brown with opprobrium.