"There they are, Irving, all three of 'em on the second deck, waving down at us! Good-by, mamma, papa, Ray! Oh, Irving, I just can't stand to see 'em go! Papa, Ray, mamma darling!" "Now, now, Miriam, think what a grand time they're going to have and how soon they're going to be home again." "Oh, my darlings!" Mrs. Binswanger sopped at her eyes, waving betimes the small black cap rescued in the up-deck rush. Laughter crept with a tinge of hysteria into Miriam's voice. "Oh, darlings, I--I just can't bear to have you go. They're--they're moving, Irving! I--Oh, mamma, papa, darlings! They're moving, Irving!" Out into the bay where the sunlight hung between blue water and bluer sky, a sea-gull swinging round her spar, the _Roumania_ steamed, unconscious of her freight. "Good-by, mamma, good-by. Let's follow them to the end of the pier, Irving. I--I want to watch them till they're out of sight." "Don't cry so, darling!" "Look! look, see that black speck; it's papa! Oh, I love him, Irving. Good-by, my darlings! Good-by! They didn't want to go except for me, and--Oh, my darlings!" "Come, dear, we can't see them any more. Come now, it's all over, dear." They picked their way through the dispersing crowd back toward the dock gates. "See, dear, how grand everything is! You and me happy here and--" "Oh, Irving, I know, but--" "But nothing." "Pin my veil for me, dear, to--to hide my eyes. I bet I'm a sight!" "You're not a sight, you're a beauty!" "'Sh-h-h-h, I don't feel like making fun, Irving!" "It's a hot day, dear, so we got to celebrate some cool way. Let's take a cab and--" "No, Irving dear, we can't afford another one." "To-day we can afford any old thing we want." "No, no, dear." "I got it, then! If we ride down to the Battery we can catch a boat for Brighton. Then we can have a little boat-ride all our own, eh? You and me, darling, on a boat-trip all our own." She turned her shining eyes full upon him. "That'll be just perfect, Irving!" she said. ROLLING STOCK In the great human democracy, revolution cannot uncrown the builder of bridges to place upon his throne the builder of pantry shelves. Gray matter and blue blood and white pigment are not dynasties of man's making. Accident of birth, and not primogeniture, makes master minds and mulattoes, seamstresses and rich men's sons. Wharf-rats are more often born than made.