They found Maynard waiting.
"Well, here we are--the Three Musketeers," said Lane, in a voice he tried to make cheerful.
"Where's the band ?" inquired Maynard, sardonically.
"Gay old New York--and me broke!" exclaimed Red Payson, as if to himself.
Then the three stood by the rail, at the gangplank, waiting for the hurried stream of passengers to disembark.

Down on the wharf under the glaring white lights, swarmed a crowd from which rose a babel of voices.

A whistle blew sharply at intervals.

The whirr and honk of taxicabs, and the jangle of trolley cars, sounded beyond the wide dark portal of the dock-house.

The murky water below splashed between ship and pier.