trained herself to think of him as Theodore the selfish, Theodore the
callous, Theodore the voracious. "An unsuccessful genius," she
told herself. "He'll be impossible. They're bad enough when they're
successful."

But now her eyes, her thoughts, her longings, her long-pent emotions
were straining toward the boat whose great prow was looming toward her,
a terrifying bulk. The crowd awaiting the ship was enormous. A dramatic
enough scene at any time, the great Hoboken pier this morning was filled
with an unrehearsed mob, anxious, thrilled, hysterical. The morning
papers had carried wireless news that the ship had been chased by a
French gunboat and had escaped only through the timely warning of the
Dresden, a German gunboat. That had added the last fillip to an already
tense situation. Tears were streaming down half the faces upturned
toward the crowded decks. And from every side:

"Do you see her?"

"That's Jessie. There she is! Jessie!"

"Heh! Jim, old boy! Come on down!"

Fanny's eyes were searching the packed rails. "Ted!" she called,
and choked back a sob. "Teddy!" Still she did not see him. She was
searching, womanlike, for a tall, blondish boy, with a sulky mouth, and
humorous eyes, and an unruly lock of hair that would insist on escaping
from the rest and straggling down over his forehead. I think she was
even looking for a boy with a violin in his arms. A boy in knickers.
Women lose all sense of time and proportion at such times. Still she did
not see him. The passengers were filing down the gangplank now; rushing
down as quickly as the careful hands of the crew would allow them, and
hurling themselves into the arms of friends and family crowded below.
Fanny strained her eyes toward that narrow passageway, anxious, hopeful,
fearful, heartsick. For the moment Olga and the baby did not exist for
her. And then she saw him.

She saw him through an unimaginable disguise. She saw him, and knew
him in spite of the fact that the fair-haired, sulky, handsome boy had
vanished, and in his place walked a man. His hair was close-cropped,
German-fashion; his face careworn and older than she had ever thought
possible; his bearing, his features, his whole personality stamped
with an unmistakable distinction. And his clothes were appallingly,
inconceivably German. So she saw him, and he was her brother, and she
was his sister, and she stretched out her arms to him.

"Teddy!" She hugged him close, her face buried in his