London (England) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
"_Non!_" snorted Mrs. Markle. "I will not. I am not able to walk yet. I
am--what you call it--we-e-k from ze illness. Now leesten to _moi_, I
gif you your hat an' coat. Put zem on, an' leave ze fur wiz me. Zen stay
in cabin till ze customs officer comes aboard. You have no articles
dutiable--_non_?"
Jane stared at her in mute amazement. "I don't--know," she stammered.
"Have you di'mon's, watches, fezzers--laces--eh?" sneered Mrs. Markle,
"kid gloves, silks, bronzes--in your so leetle box?--_non_? Say so, zen;
when zey ask you. Zes so gra-a-nd United Sta-a-tes mek you
pay--_comprenez_?--for all such sings. An' see, before we land at ze
dock, you come back to me here. I s'all ask you to help wiz ze luggage."
But Jane was not asked to carry anything, when at last, the big ship
securely fast at her dock, the two prepared to go ashore.
"See, now, Jane," said Mrs. Markle, "zere is one leetle sing I wis' not
to lose--a so small package. Do you mek it safe inside your jacket, so
it be not lost for me. I haf no place to keep it. Do not take it out.
Say nossing to nobody. I gif you money ven you gif it safe to _moi_. Zen
in ze customs, you will go by your box in ze place marked 'B'; I mus'
stay in 'M.' After all is passed we go on. You haf nossing dutiable-- I
haf nossing; we are quick through. Zen we go to see ze so gr-r-and
sights in America--_oui_!"
Jane permitted the woman to fasten a flat package, securely wrapped in
soft paper, in the loose folds of her blouse. Then the two made their
way to the deck, and from thence across the gang plank into the great,
noisy place, where the luggage of the passengers was being rapidly
sorted into vast piles.
As Mrs. Markle had predicted, they seemed likely to be quickly passed
through the customhouse. Jane's modest luggage was thrown down almost at
her feet, and, following Mrs. Markle's careful directions, she at once
drew the attention of a waiting official to it.
The man gruffly demanded her keys; unlocked the trunk; rumpled its scant
contents with a perfunctory hand; replaced it; scribbled a cabalistic
design upon its lid with a piece of chalk. Then, as if moved by an after
thought, he turned to the girl who stood looking on.
"Have you anything dutiable about your person?" he asked sharply; "any
jewelry--laces--or such like?"
"I have my locket with my father's picture," confessed Jane, trembling,
"and mother's wedding ring; oh, sir, please don't take them away from
me. They'd be no good to anyone but me."
The man was gazing at her keenly. Something in his stern eyes reminded
Jane of the mysterious flat package Mrs. Markle had given into her
charge.
"And I have a--a small parcel, too," she faltered; "I don't know what is
in it."
"Give it to me; I'll soon tell you," said the man grimly.
"It doesn't belong to me, sir," added Jane, trembling still more as the
inspector's practiced fingers quickly undid the wrappings.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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