Three Men and a Maid, Page 2

  CHAPTER TWO

  The White Star liner _Atlantic_ lay at her pier with steam up andgangway down ready for her trip to Southampton. The hour of departurewas near and there was a good deal of mixed activity going on. Sailorsfiddled about with ropes. Junior officers flitted to and fro.White-jacketed stewards wrestled with trunks. Probably the captain,though not visible, was also employed on some useful work of a nauticalnature and not wasting his time. Men, women, boxes, rugs, dogs, flowersand baskets of fruit were flowing on board in a steady stream.

  The usual drove of citizens had come to see the travellers off. Therewere men on the passenger-list who were being seen off by fathers, bymothers, by sisters, by cousins, and by aunts. In the steerage there wasan elderly Jewish lady who was being seen off by exactly thirty-sevenof her late neighbours in Rivington Street. And two men in thesecond cabin were being seen off by detectives, surely the crowningcompliment a great nation can bestow. The cavernous customs shed wascongested with friends and relatives, and Sam Marlowe, heading for thegang-plank, was only able to make progress by employing all the muscleand energy which Nature had bestowed upon him, and which during thetwenty-five years of his life he had developed by athletic exercise.However, after some minutes of silent endeavour, now driving his shoulderinto the midriff of some obstructing male, now courteously lifting somestout female off his feet, he had succeeded in struggling to within a fewyards of his goal, when suddenly a sharp pain shot through his right armand he spun round with a cry.

  It seemed to Sam that he had been bitten, and this puzzled him, for NewYork crowds, though they may shove and jostle, rarely bite.

  He found himself face to face with an extraordinarily pretty girl.

  She was a red-haired girl with the beautiful ivory skin which goes withred hair. Her eyes, though they were under the shadow of her hat, andhe could not be certain, he diagnosed as green, or maybe blue, orpossibly grey. Not that it mattered, for he had a catholic taste infeminine eyes. So long as they were large and bright, as werethe specimens under his immediate notice, he was not the man toquibble about a point of colour. Her nose was small, and on the verytip of it there was a tiny freckle. Her mouth was nice and wide, herchin soft and round. She was just about the height which every girlought to be. Her figure was trim, her feet tiny, and she wore one ofthose dresses of which a man can say no more than that they look prettywell all right.

  Nature abhors a vacuum. Samuel Marlowe was a susceptible young man, andfor many a long month his heart had been lying empty, all swept andgarnished, with "Welcome" on the mat. This girl seemed to rush in andfill it. She was not the prettiest girl he had ever seen. She was thethird prettiest. He had an orderly mind, one capable of classifying anddocketing girls. But there was a subtle something about her, a sort ofhow-shall-one-put-it, which he had never encountered before. Heswallowed convulsively. His well-developed chest swelled beneath itscovering of blue flannel and invisible stripe. At last, he toldhimself, he was in love, really in love, and at first sight, too, whichmade it all the more impressive. He doubted whether in the wholecourse of history anything like this had ever happened before toanybody. Oh, to clasp this girl to him and--

  But she had bitten him in the arm. That was hardly the right spirit.That, he felt, constituted an obstacle.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she cried.

  Well, of course, if she regretted her rash act ... After all, animpulsive girl might bite a man in the arm in the excitement of themoment and still have a sweet, womanly nature....

  "The crowd seems to make Pinky-Boodles so nervous."

  Sam might have remained mystified, but at this juncture there proceededfrom a bundle of rugs in the neighbourhood of the girl's lower ribs asharp yapping sound, of such a calibre as to be plainly audible overthe confused noise of Mamies who were telling Sadies to be sure andwrite, of Bills who were instructing Dicks to look up old Joe in Parisand give him their best, and of all the fruit-boys, candy-boys,magazine-boys, American-flag-boys, and telegraph boys who were honkingtheir wares on every side.

  "I hope he didn't hurt you much. You're the third person he's bittento-day." She kissed the animal in a loving and congratulatory way on thetip of his black nose. "Not counting bell-boys, of course," she added.And then she was swept from him in the crowd and he was left thinkingof all the things he might have said--all those graceful, witty,ingratiating things which just make a bit of difference on theseoccasions.

  He had said nothing. Not a sound, exclusive of the first sharp yowl ofpain, had proceeded from him. He had just goggled. A rotten exhibition!Perhaps he would never see this girl again. She looked the sort of girlwho comes to see friends off and doesn't sail herself. And what memoryof him would she retain? She would mix him up with the time when shewent to visit the deaf-and-dumb hospital.

  Sam reached the gang-plank, showed his ticket, and made his way throughthe crowd of passengers, passengers' friends, stewards, juniorofficers, and sailors who infested the deck. He proceeded down the maincompanion-way, through a rich smell of india-rubber and mixed pickles,as far as the dining-saloon: then turned down the narrow passageleading to his stateroom.

  Staterooms on ocean liners are curious things. When you see them on thechart in the passenger-office, with the gentlemanly clerk drawing ringsround them in pencil, they seem so vast that you get the impressionthat, after stowing away all your trunks, you will have room left overto do a bit of entertaining--possibly an informal dance or something.When you go on board you find that the place has shrunk to thedimensions of an undersized cupboard in which it would be impossible toswing a cat. And then, about the second day out, it suddenly expandsagain. For one reason or another the necessity for swinging cats doesnot arise and you find yourself quite comfortable.

  Sam, balancing himself on the narrow, projecting ledge which the chartin the passenger-office had grandiloquently described as a lounge,began to feel the depression which marks the second phase. He almostwished now that he had not been so energetic in having his room changedin order to enjoy the company of his cousin Eustace. It was going to bea tight fit. Eustace's bag was already in the cabin, and it seemed totake up the entire fairway. Still, after all, Eustace was a good sort,and would be a cheerful companion. And Sam realised that if that girlwith the red hair was not a passenger on the boat he was going to haveneed of diverting society.

  A footstep sounded in the passage outside. The door opened.

  "Hullo, Eustace!" said Sam.

  Eustace Hignett nodded listlessly, sat down on his bag and emitted adeep sigh. He was a small, fragile-looking young man with a pale,intellectual face. Dark hair fell in a sweep over his forehead. Helooked like a man who would write _vers libre_, as indeed he did."Hullo!" he said, in a hollow voice.

  Sam regarded him blankly. He had not seen him for some years, but,going by his recollections of him at the University, he had expectedsomething cheerier than this. In fact, he had rather been relying onEustace to be the life and soul of the party. The man sitting on thebag before him could hardly have filled that role at a gathering ofRussian novelists.

  "What on earth's the matter?" said Sam.

  "The matter?" Eustace Hignett laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, nothing.Nothing much. Nothing to signify. Only my heart's broken." He eyed withconsiderable malignity the bottle of water in the rack above his head,a harmless object provided by the White Star Company for clients whomight desire to clean their teeth during the voyage.

  "If you would care to hear the story?" he said.

  "Go ahead."

  "It is quite short."

  "That's good."

  "Soon after I arrived in America I met a girl...."

  "Talking of girls," said Marlowe with enthusiasm. "I've just seen theonly one in the world that really amounts to anything. It was likethis. I was shoving my way through the mob on the dock, whensuddenly...."

  "Shall I tell you my story, or will you tell me yours?"

  "Oh, sorry! Go ahead."

  Eustace Hignett scowled at the printed notice on
the wall informingoccupants of the stateroom that the name of their steward was J. B.Midgeley.

  "She was an extraordinarily pretty girl...."

  "So was mine. I give you my honest word I never in all my life sawsuch...."

  "Of course, if you would prefer that I postponed my narrative?" saidEustace coldly.

  "Oh, sorry! Carry on."

  "She was an extraordinarily pretty girl...."

  "What was her name?"

  "Wilhelmina Bennett. She was an extraordinarily pretty girl and highlyintelligent. I read her all my poems and she appreciated themimmensely. She enjoyed my singing. My conversation appeared to interesther. She admired my...."

  "I see. You made a hit. Now get on with the rest of the story."

  "Don't bustle me," said Eustace querulously.

  "Well, you know, the voyage only takes eight days."

  "I've forgotten where I was."

  "You were saying what a devil of a chap she thought you. What happened?I suppose, when you actually came to propose, you found she was engagedto some other johnny?"

  "Not at all. I asked her to be my wife, and she consented. We bothagreed that a quiet wedding was what we wanted--she thought her fathermight stop the thing if he knew, and I was dashed sure my motherwould--so we decided to get married without telling anybody. By now,"said Eustace, with a morose glance at the porthole, "I ought to havebeen on my honeymoon. Everything was settled. I had the license andthe parson's fee. I had been breaking in a new tie for the wedding."

  "And then you quarrelled?"

  "Nothing of the kind. I wish you would stop trying to tell me thestory. I'm telling _you_. What happened was this: somehow--I can'tmake out how--mother found out. And then, of course, it was all over.She stopped the thing."

  Sam was indignant. He thoroughly disliked his Aunt Adeline, and hiscousin's meek subservience to her revolted him.

  "Stopped it? I suppose she said, 'Now, Eustace, you mustn't!' and yousaid, 'Very well, mother!' and scratched the fixture?"

  "She didn't say a word. She never has said a word. As far as that goesshe might never have heard anything about the marriage."

  "Then how do you mean she stopped it?"

  "She pinched my trousers!"

  "Pinched your trousers?"

  Eustace groaned. "All of them! The whole bally lot! She gets up longbefore I do, and she must have come into my room and cleaned it outwhile I was asleep. When I woke up and started to dress I couldn't finda solitary pair of bags anywhere in the whole place. I lookedeverywhere. Finally, I went into the sitting-room where she was writingletters and asked if she had happened to see any anywhere. She said shehad sent them all to be pressed. She said she knew I never went out inthe mornings--I don't as a rule--and they would be back at lunch-time.A fat lot of use that was! I had to be at the church at eleven. Well, Itold her I had a most important engagement with a man at eleven, andshe wanted to know what it was and I tried to think of something, butit sounded pretty feeble and she said I had better telephone to the manand put it off. I did it, too. Rang up the first number in the book andtold some fellow I had never seen in my life that I couldn't meet him!He was pretty peeved, judging from what he said about my being on thewrong line. And mother listening all the time, and I knowing that sheknew--something told me that she knew--and she knowing that I knew sheknew--I tell you it was awful!"

  "And the girl?"

  "She broke off the engagement. Apparently she waited at the church fromeleven till one-thirty and then began to get impatient. She wouldn'tsee me when I called in the afternoon, but I got a letter from hersaying that what had happened was all for the best as she had beenthinking it over and had come to the conclusion that she had made amistake. She said something about my not being as dynamic as she hadthought I was. She said that what she wanted was something more likeLancelot or Sir Galahad, and would I look on the episode as closed."

  "Did you explain about the trousers?"

  "Yes. It seemed to make things worse. She said that she could forgive aman anything except being ridiculous."

  "I think you're well out of it," said Sam judicially. "She can't havebeen much of a girl."

  "I feel that now. But it doesn't alter the fact that my life is ruined.I have become a woman-hater. It's an infernal nuisance, becausepractically all the poetry I have ever written rather went out of itsway to boost women, and now I'll have to start all over again andapproach the subject from another angle. Women! When I think how motherbehaved and how Wilhelmina treated me I wonder there isn't a lawagainst them. 'What mighty ills have not been done by Woman! Who was itbetrayed the Capitol!'"

  "In Washington?" said Sam puzzled. He had heard nothing of this. Butthen he generally confined his reading of the papers to the sportingpage.

  "In Rome, you ass! Ancient Rome."

  "Oh, as long ago as that?"

  "I was quoting from Thomas Otway's 'Orphan.' I wish I could write likeOtway. He knew what he was talking about. 'Who was't betrayed theCapitol? A woman. Who lost Marc Antony the world? A woman. Who was thecause of a long ten years' war and laid at last old Troy in ashes?Woman! Destructive, damnable, deceitful woman!'"

  "Well, of course, he may be right in a way. As regards some women, Imean. But the girl I met on the dock--"

  "Don't!" said Eustace Hignett. "If you have anything bitter andderogatory to say about women, say it and I will listen eagerly. But ifyou merely wish to gibber about the ornamental exterior of some dashedgirl you have been fool enough to get attracted by, go and tell it tothe captain or the ship's cat or J. B. Midgeley. Do try to realise thatI am a soul in torment! I am a ruin, a spent force, a man without afuture! What does life hold for me? Love? I shall never love again.My work? I haven't any. I think I shall take to drink."

  "Talking of that," said Sam, "I suppose they open the bar directly wepass the three-mile limit. How about a small one?"

  Eustace shook his head gloomily.

  "Do you suppose I pass my time on board ship in gadding about andfeasting? Directly the vessel begins to move I go to bed and staythere. As a matter of fact I think it would be wisest to go to bed now.Don't let me keep you if you want to go on deck."

  "It looks to me," said Sam, "as if I had been mistaken in thinking thatyou were going to be a ray of sunshine on the voyage."

  "Ray of sunshine!" said Eustace Hignett, pulling a pair of mauvepyjamas out of the kit-bag. "I'm going to be a volcano!"

  * * * * *

  Sam left the state-room and headed for the companion. He wanted to geton deck and ascertain if that girl was still on board. About now thesheep would be separating from the goats: the passengers would be ondeck and their friends returning to the shore. A slight tremor on theboards on which he trod told him that this separation must have alreadytaken place. The ship was moving. He ran lightly up the companion. Wasshe on board or was she not? The next few minutes would decide. Hereached the top of the stairs and passed out on to the crowded deck.And, as he did so, a scream, followed by confused shouting, came fromthe rail nearest the shore. He perceived that the rail was black withpeople hanging over it. They were all looking into the water.

  Samuel Marlowe was not one of those who pass aloofly by when there isexcitement toward. If a horse fell down in the street, he was alwaysamong those present: and he was never too busy to stop and stare at ablank window on which were inscribed the words "Watch this space!" Inshort, he was one of Nature's rubbernecks, and to dash to the rail andshove a fat man in a tweed cap to one side was with him the work of amoment. He had thus an excellent view of what was going on--a viewwhich he improved the next instant by climbing up and kneeling on therail.

  There was a man in the water, a man whose upper section, the only onevisible, was clad in a blue jersey. He wore a Derby hat, and from timeto time as he battled with the waves, he would put up a hand and adjustthis more firmly on his head. A dressy swimmer.

  Scarcely had he taken in this spectacle when Marlowe became aware ofthe girl he had m
et on the dock. She was standing a few feet awayleaning out over the rail with wide eyes and parted lips. Likeeverybody else she was staring into the water.

  As Sam looked at her the thought crossed his mind that here was awonderful chance of making the most tremendous impression on this girl.What would she not think of a man who, reckless of his own safety,dived in and went boldly to the rescue? And there were men, no doubt,who would be chumps enough to do it, he thought, as he prepared toshift back to a position of greater safety.

  At this moment, the fat man in the tweed cap, incensed at having beenjostled out of the front row, made his charge. He had but beencrouching, the better to spring. Now he sprang. His full weight tookSam squarely in the spine. There was an instant in which that young manhung, as it were, between sea and sky; then he shot down over the railto join the man in the blue jersey, who had just discovered that hishat was not on straight and had paused to adjust it once more with afew skilful touches of the finger.

  * * * * *

  In the brief interval of time which Marlowe had spent in the state-room,chatting with Eustace about the latter's bruised soul, somerather curious things had been happening above. Not extraordinary,perhaps, but curious. These must now be related. A story, if it is togrip the reader, should, I am aware, go always forward. It shouldmarch. It should leap from crag to crag like the chamois of the Alps.If there is one thing I hate, it is a novel which gets you interestedin the hero in chapter one and then cuts back in chapter two to tellyou all about his grandfather. Nevertheless, at this point we must goback a space. We must return to the moment when, having deposited herPekinese dog in her state-room, the girl with the red hair came outagain on deck. This happened just about the time when Eustace Hignettwas beginning his narrative.

  By now the bustle which precedes the departure of an ocean liner was atits height. Hoarse voices were crying, "All for the shore!" The gangwaywas thronged with friends of passengers returning to land. The crowd onthe pier waved flags and handkerchiefs and shouted unintelligibly.Members of the crew stood alertly by the gang-plank ready to draw it inas soon as the last seer-off had crossed it.

  The girl went to the rail and gazed earnestly at the shore. There wasan anxious expression on her face. She had the air of one who waswaiting for someone to appear. Her demeanour was that of Mariana at theMoated Grange. "He cometh not!" she seemed to be saying. She glanced ather wrist-watch, then scanned the dock once more.

  There was a rattle as the gang-plank moved inboard and was deposited onthe deck. The girl uttered a little cry of dismay. Then suddenly herface brightened and she began to wave her arm to attract the attentionof an elderly man with a red face made redder by exertion, who had justforced his way to the edge of the dock and was peering up at thepassenger-lined rail.

  The boat had now begun to move slowly out of its slip, backing into theriver. Ropes had been cast off, and an ever widening strip of waterappeared between the vessel and the shore. It was now that the man onthe dock sighted the girl. She gesticulated at him. He gesticulated ather. She appeared helpless and baffled, but he showed himself a personof resource of the stuff of which great generals are made. Foch is justlike that, a bird at changing pre-conceived plans to suit the exigenciesof the moment.

  The man on the dock took from his pocket a pleasantly rotund wad ofcurrency bills. He produced a handkerchief, swiftly tied up the billsin it, backed to give himself room, and then, with all the strength ofhis arm, he hurled the bills in the direction of the deck. The actionwas greeted by cheers from a warm-hearted populace. Your New York crowdloves a liberal provider.

  One says that the man hurled the bills in the direction of the deck,and that was exactly what he did. But the years had robbed hispitching-arm of the limber strength which, forty summers back, had madehim the terror of opposing boys' baseball teams. He still retained afair control but he lacked steam. The handkerchief with its preciouscontents shot in a graceful arc towards the deck, fell short by a goodsix feet and dropped into the water, where it unfolded like a lily,sending twenty-dollar bills, ten-dollar bills, five-dollar bills, andan assortment of ones floating over the wavelets. The cheers of thecitizenry changed to cries of horror. The girl uttered a plaintiveshriek. The boat moved on.

  It was at this moment that Mr. Oscar Swenson, one of the thriftiestsouls who ever came out of Sweden, perceived that the chance of alifetime had arrived for adding substantially to his little savings. Byprofession he was one of those men who eke out a precarious livelihoodby rowing dreamily about the waterfront in skiffs. He was doing so now:and, as he sat meditatively in his skiff, having done his best to givethe liner a good send-off by paddling round her in circles, thepleading face of a twenty-dollar bill peered up at him. Mr. Swenson wasnot the man to resist the appeal. He uttered a sharp bark of ecstasy,pressed his Derby hat firmly upon his brow and dived in. A moment laterhe had risen to the surface and was gathering up money with both hands.

  He was still busy with this congenial task when a tremendous splash athis side sent him under again; and, rising for a second time, heobserved with not a little chagrin that he had been joined by a youngman in a blue flannel suit with an invisible stripe.

  "Svensk!" exclaimed Mr. Swenson, or whatever it is that natives ofSweden exclaim in moments of justifiable annoyance. He resented theadvent of this newcomer. He had been getting along fine and had had thesituation well in hand. To him Sam Marlowe represented Competition, andMr. Swenson desired no competitors in his treasure-seeking enterprise.He travels, thought Mr. Swenson, the fastest who travels alone.

  Sam Marlowe had a touch of the philosopher in him. He had the abilityto adapt himself to circumstances. It had been no part of his plans tocome whizzing down off the rail into this singularly soup-like waterwhich tasted in equal parts of oil and dead rats; but, now that he washere he was prepared to make the best of the situation. Swimming, ithappened, was one of the things he did best, and somewhere among hisbelongings at home was a tarnished pewter cup which he had won atschool in the "Saving Life" competition. He knew exactly what to do.You get behind the victim and grab him firmly under his arms, and thenyou start swimming on your back. A moment later the astonished Mr.Swenson, who, being practically amphibious, had not anticipated thatanyone would have the cool impertinence to try and save him fromdrowning, found himself seized from behind and towed vigorously awayfrom a ten-dollar bill which he had almost succeeded in grasping. Thespiritual agony caused by this assault rendered him mercifully dumb;though, even had he contrived to utter the rich Swedish oaths whichoccurred to him, his remarks could scarcely have been heard, for thecrowd on the dock was cheering as one man. They had often paid goodmoney to see far less gripping sights in the movies. They roaredapplause. The liner, meanwhile, continued to move stodgily out intomid-river.

  The only drawback to these life-saving competitions at school,considered from the standpoint of fitting the competitors for theproblems of after-life, is that the object saved on such occasions is aleather dummy, and of all things in this world a leather dummy isperhaps the most placid and phlegmatic. It differs in many respectsfrom an emotional Swedish gentleman, six foot high and constructedthroughout of steel and india rubber, who is being lugged away fromcash which he has been regarding in the light of a legacy. Indeed, itwould not be hard to find a respect in which it does not differ. So farfrom lying inert in Sam's arms and allowing himself to be saved in aquiet and orderly manner, Mr. Swenson betrayed all the symptoms of onewho feels that he has fallen among murderers. Mr. Swenson, much as hedisliked competition, was ready to put up with it, provided that it wasfair competition. This pulling your rival away from the loot so thatyou could grab it yourself--thus shockingly had the man misinterpretedSam's motives--was another thing altogether and his stout soul wouldhave none of it. He began immediately to struggle with all the violenceat his disposal. His large, hairy hands came out of the water and swunghopefully in the direction where he assumed his assailant's face to be.

  Sam was no
t unprepared for this display. His researches in the art oflife-saving had taught him that your drowning man frequently struggledagainst his best interests. In which case, cruel to be kind, one simplystunned the blighter. He decided to stun Mr. Swenson, though, if he hadknown that gentleman more intimately and had been aware that he had thereputation of possessing the thickest head on the water-front he wouldhave realised the magnitude of the task. Friends of Mr. Swenson, inconvivial moments, had frequently endeavoured to stun him with bottles,boots, and bits of lead piping, and had gone away depressed by failure.Sam, ignorant of this, attempted to do the job with clenched fist,which he brought down as smartly as possible on the crown of theother's Derby hat.

  It was the worst thing he could have done. Mr. Swenson thought highlyof his hat and this brutal attack upon it confirmed his gloomiestapprehensions. Now thoroughly convinced that the only thing to do wasto sell his life dearly he wrenched himself round, seized his assailantby the neck, twined his arms about his middle, and accompanied himbelow the surface.

  By the time he had swallowed his first pint and was beginning hissecond, Sam was reluctantly compelled to come to the conclusion thatthis was the end. The thought irritated him unspeakably. This, he felt,was just the silly, contrary way things always happened. Why should itbe he who was perishing like this? Why not Eustace Hignett? Now there wasa fellow whom this sort of thing would just have suited. Broken-heartedEustace Hignett would have looked on all this as a merciful release.

  He paused in his reflections to try to disentangle the more prominentof Mr. Swenson's limbs from about him. By this time he was sure that hehad never met anyone he disliked so intensely as Mr. Swenson--not evenhis Aunt Adeline. The man was a human octopus. Sam could count sevendistinct legs twined round him and at least as many arms. It seemed tohim that he was being done to death in his prime by a solid platoon ofSwedes. He put his whole soul into one last effort ... something seemedto give ... he was free. Pausing only to try to kick Mr. Swenson in theface Sam shot to the surface. Something hard and sharp prodded him inthe head. Then something caught the collar of his coat; and, finally,spouting like a whale, he found himself dragged upwards and over theside of a boat.

  * * * * *

  The time which Sam had spent with Mr. Swenson below the surface hadbeen brief, but it had been long enough to enable the whole floatingpopulation of the North River to converge on the scene in scows,skiffs, launches, tugs and other vessels. The fact that the water inthat vicinity was crested with currency had not escaped the notice ofthese navigators and they had gone to it as one man. First in the racecame the tug _Reuben S. Watson_, the skipper of which, following afamous precedent, had taken his little daughter to bear him company. Itwas to this fact that Marlowe really owed his rescue. Women have oftena vein of sentiment in them where men can only see the hard businessside of a situation; and it was the skipper's daughter who insistedthat the family boat-hook, then in use as a harpoon for spearing dollarbills, should be devoted to the less profitable but humaner end ofextricating the young man from a watery grave.

  The skipper had grumbled a bit at first, but had given way--he alwaysspoiled the girl--with the result that Sam found himself sitting on thedeck of the tug engaged in the complicated process of restoring hisfaculties to the normal. In a sort of dream he perceived Mr. Swensonrise to the surface some feet away, adjust his Derby hat, and, afterone long look of dislike in his direction, swim off rapidly to intercepta five which was floating under the stern of a near-by skiff.

  Sam sat on the deck and panted. He played on the boards like a publicfountain. At the back of his mind there was a flickering thought thathe wanted to do something, a vague feeling that he had some sort of anappointment which he must keep; but he was unable to think what it was.Meanwhile, he conducted tentative experiments with his breath. It wasso long since he had last breathed that he had lost the knack of it.

  "Well, aincher wet?" said a voice.

  The skipper's daughter was standing beside him, looking downcommiseratingly. Of the rest of the family all he could see was thebroad blue seats of their trousers as they leaned hopefully over theside in the quest for wealth.

  "Yessir! You sure are wet! Gee! I never seen anyone so wet! I seen wetguys, but I never seen anyone so wet as you. Yessir, you're certainly_wet_!"

  "I _am_ wet," admitted Sam.

  "Yessir, you're wet! Wet's the word all right. Good and wet, that'swhat you are!"

  "It's the water," said Sam. His brain was still clouded; he wished hecould remember what that appointment was. "That's what has made mewet."

  "It's sure made you wet all right," agreed the girl. She looked at himinterestedly. "Wotcha do it for?" she asked.

  "Do it for?"

  "Yes, wotcha do it for? How come? Wotcha do a Brodie for off'n thatship? I didn't see it myself, but pa says you come walloping down off'nthe deck like a sack of potatoes."

  Sam uttered a sharp cry. He had remembered.

  "Where is she?"

  "Where's who?"

  "The liner."

  "She's off down the river, I guess. She was swinging round, the last Iseen of her."

  "She's not gone?"

  "Sure she's gone. Wotcha expect her to do? She's gotta to get over tothe other side, ain't she? Cert'nly she's gone." She looked at himinterested. "Do you want to be on board her?"

  "Of course I do."

  "Then, for the love of Pete, wotcha doin' walloping off'n her like asack of potatoes?"

  "I slipped. I was pushed or something." Sam sprang to his feet andlooked wildly about him. "I must get back. Isn't there any way ofgetting back?"

  "Well, you could catch up with her at quarantine out in the bay. She'llstop to let the pilot off."

  "Can you take me to quarantine?"

  The girl glanced doubtfully at the seat of the nearest pair oftrousers.

  "Well, we _could_," she said. "But pa's kind of set in his ways,and right now he's fishing for dollar bills with the boat-hook. He'sapt to get sorta mad if he's interrupted."

  "I'll give him fifty dollars if he'll put me on board."

  "Got it on you?" inquired the nymph coyly. She had her share ofsentiment, but she was her father's daughter and inherited from him thebusiness sense.

  "Here it is." He pulled out his pocket-book. The book was dripping, butthe contents were only fairly moist.

  "Pa!" said the girl.

  The trouser-seat remained where it was--deaf to its child's cry.

  "Pa! Commere! Wantcha!"

  The trousers did not even quiver. But this girl was a girl of decision.There was some nautical implement resting in a rack convenient to herhand. It was long, solid, and constructed of one of the harder forms ofwood. Deftly extracting this from its place she smote her inoffensiveparent on the only visible portion of him. He turned sharply,exhibiting a red, bearded face.

  "Pa, this gen'man wants to be took aboard the boat at quarantine. He'llgive you fifty berries."

  The wrath died out of the skipper's face like the slow turning down ofa lamp. The fishing had been poor, and so far he had only managed tosecure a single two-dollar bill. In a crisis like the one which had sosuddenly arisen you cannot do yourself justice with a boat-hook.

  "Fifty berries!"

  "Fifty seeds!" the girl assured him. "Are you on?"

  "Queen," said the skipper simply, "you said a mouthful!"

  Twenty minutes later Sam was climbing up the side of the liner as itlay towering over the tug like a mountain. His clothes hung about himclammily. He squelched as he walked.

  A kindly looking old gentleman who was smoking a cigar by the railregarded him with open eyes.

  "My dear sir, you're very wet," he said.

  Sam passed him with a cold face and hurried through the door leading tothe companion-way.

  "Mummie, why is that man wet?" cried the clear voice of a little child.

  Sam whizzed by, leaping down the stairs.

  "Good Lord, sir! You're very wet!" said
a steward in the doorway of thedining-saloon.

  "You _are_ wet," said a stewardess in the passage.

  Sam raced for his state-room. He bolted in and sank on the lounge. Inthe lower berth Eustace Hignett was lying with closed eyes. He openedthem languidly--then stared.

  "Hullo!" he said. "I say! You're wet."

  * * * * *

  Sam removed his clinging garments and hurried into a new suit. He wasin no mood for conversation, and Eustace Hignett's frank curiosityjarred upon him. Happily, at this point, a sudden shivering of thefloor and a creaking of woodwork proclaimed the fact that the vesselwas under way again, and his cousin, turning pea-green, rolled over onhis side with a hollow moan. Sam finished buttoning his waistcoat andwent out.

  He was passing the Enquiry Bureau on the C-Deck, striding along withbent head and scowling brow, when a sudden exclamation caused him tolook up, and the scowl was wiped from his brow as with a sponge. Forthere stood the girl he had met on the dock. With her was a superfluousyoung man who looked like a parrot.

  "Oh, _how_ are you?" asked the girl breathlessly.

  "Splendid, thanks," said Sam.

  "Didn't you get very wet?"

  "I did get a little damp."

  "I thought you would," said the young man who looked like a parrot."Directly I saw you go over the side I said to myself: 'That fellow'sgoing to get wet!'"

  There was a pause.

  "Oh!" said the girl, "may I--Mr.--?"

  "Marlowe."

  "Mr. Marlowe. Mr. Bream Mortimer."

  Sam smirked at the young man. The young man smirked at Sam.

  "Nearly got left behind," said Bream Mortimer.

  "Yes, nearly."

  "No joke getting left behind."

  "No."

  "Have to take the next boat. Lose a lot of time," said Mr. Mortimer,driving home his point.

  The girl had listened to these intellectual exchanges with impatience.She now spoke again.

  "Oh, Bream!"

  "Hello?"

  "Do be a dear and run down to the saloon and see if it's all rightabout our places for lunch."

  "It is all right. The table steward said so."

  "Yes, but go and make certain."

  "All right."

  He hopped away and the girl turned to Sam with shining eyes.

  "Oh, Mr. Marlowe, you oughtn't to have done it! Really, you oughtn't!You might have been drowned! But I never saw anything so wonderful. Itwas like the stories of knights who used to jump into lions' dens aftergloves!"

  "Yes?" said Sam, a little vaguely. The resemblance had not struck him.It seemed a silly hobby and rough on the lions, too.

  "It was the sort of thing Sir Lancelot or Sir Galahad would have done!But you shouldn't have bothered, really! It's all right now."

  "Oh, it's all right now?"

  "Yes. I'd quite forgotten that Mr. Mortimer was to be on board. He hasgiven me all the money I shall need. You see it was this way. I had tosail on this boat in rather a hurry. Father's head clerk was to havegone to the bank and got some money and met me on board and givenit to me, but the silly old man was late, and when he got to the dockthey had just pulled in the gang-plank. So he tried to throw the money tome in a handkerchief and it fell into the water. But you shouldn't havedived in after it."

  "Oh, well!" said Sam, straightening his tie, with a quiet brave smile.He had never expected to feel grateful to that obese bounder who hadshoved him off the rail, but now he would have liked to seek him outand offer him his bank-roll.

  "You really are the bravest man I ever met!"

  "Oh, no!"

  "How modest you are! But I suppose all brave men are modest!"

  "I was only too delighted at what looked like a chance of doing you aservice."

  "It was the extraordinary quickness of it that was so wonderful. I doadmire presence of mind. You didn't hesitate for a second. You justshot over the side as though propelled by some irresistible force!"

  "It was nothing, nothing really. One just happens to have the knack ofkeeping one's head and acting quickly on the spur of the moment. Somepeople have it, some haven't."

  "And just think! As Bream was saying...."

  "It _is_ all right," said Mr. Mortimer, re-appearing suddenly. "Isaw a couple of stewards and they both said it was all right. So it'sall right."

  "Splendid," said the girl. "Oh, Bream!"

  "Hello?"

  "Do be an angel and run along to my stateroom and see if Pinky-Boodlesis quite comfortable."

  "Bound to be."

  "Yes. But do go. He may be feeling lonely. Chirrup to him a little."

  "Chirrup?"

  "Yes, to cheer him up."

  "Oh, all right."

  "Run along!"

  Mr. Mortimer ran along. He had the air of one who feels that he onlyneeds a peaked cap and a uniform two sizes too small for him to be aproperly equipped messenger boy.

  "And, as Bream was saying," resumed the girl, "you might have been leftbehind."

  "That," said Sam, edging a step closer, "was the thought that torturedme, the thought that a friendship so delightfully begun...."

  "But it hadn't begun. We have never spoken to each other before now."

  "Have you forgotten? On the dock...."

  Sudden enlightenment came into her eyes.

  "Oh, you are the man poor Pinky-Boodles bit!"

  "The lucky man!"

  Her face clouded.

  "Poor Pinky is feeling the motion of the boat a little. It's his firstvoyage."

  "I shall always remember that it was Pinky who first brought ustogether. Would you care for a stroll on deck?"

  "Not just now, thanks. I must be getting back to my room to finishunpacking. After lunch, perhaps."

  "I will be there. By the way, you know my name, but...."

  "Oh, mine?" She smiled brightly. "It's funny that a person's name is thelast thing one thinks of asking. Mine is Bennett."

  "Bennett!"

  "Wilhelmina Bennett. My friends," she said softly as she turned away,"call me Billie!"