Seventh day out. This sea-life is too darned changeable for me. You never know what next. It's bad for the nerves-- ~ Smith's Log.
Thus the Tyro, in much perturbation of spirit, at the end of a lonelyday. "Varium et mutabile semper," was written, however, not of the seabut of woman. And it was of woman and woman's incomprehensibility thatthe keeper of the private log was petulantly thinking when he made thatentry.
For, far from harrying him about the decks, Little Miss Grouch had nowwithdrawn entirely from his ken. He had written her once, he had writtenher twice; he had surreptitiously thrust a third note beneath her door.No answer came to any of his communications. Being comparativelyinnocent of the way of a maid with a man, the Tyro was discouraged. Heconsidered that he was not being fairly used. And he gloomed and mopedand was an object of private mirth to Judge Enderby.
Two perfectly sound reasons accounted for the Joyous Vision's remainingtemporarily invisible. The first was that she needed sleep, andStateroom 129 D, which she had once so despitefully characterized,seemed a very haven of restfulness when, after breakfast, it wasreported habitably dried out; the other was a queer and exasperatingreluctance to meet the Tyro--yes, even to see him. As the lifting of theembargo on speech was not known to him, she knew herself to be insuredagainst direct address. But the mere thought of meeting him face toface, of having those clear, quiet gray eyes look into hers again, gaveher the most mysterious and disquieting sensations.
"I do wish," said Little Miss Grouch to herself, "that his name weren'tso perfectly awful."
Some thought-demon with a special mission for the persecution ofmaidens, put it into her head to inquire why she should so vehementlywish this thing. And the trail of that thought plunged her, face-first,into her pillow.
Thereafter she decided that if she went on deck at all that day, itwould be with such a surrounding of bodyguard as should keep wanderingDaddleskinks quite beyond her range of association. As for his notes,she would answer them when she thought fit. Meantime--as the writerthereof might have been enheartened to know--she put them away in themost private and personal compartment of her trunk, giving each a tenderlittle pat to settle it comfortably into its place.
* * * * * * *
Doubtless the sun shone that day (the official records said, "Clear withlight winds and a calm sea"); doubtless the crippled ship limped happilyenough on her way; doubtless there was good food and drink, music andmerriment, and the solace of enlivening company aboard. But thesnap-shot of the Tyro surreptitiously taken by Judge Enderby--he havingborrowed Alderson's traveling-camera for the purpose--showed a facewhich might suitably have been used as a marginal illustration for thatcheerless hymn, "This world is all a fleeting show."
Life had lost all its flavor for the Tyro. He politely accepted Dr.Alderson's invitation to walk, but lagged with so springless a step thatthe arch鎜logist began to be concerned for his health. At Lord Guenn'slater suggestion that squash was the thing for incipient seediness, hetried that, but played a game far too listless for the Englishman'sprowess.
In vain did he seek consolation in the society of Karl, the Pride of theSteerage. That intelligent infant wept and would not be comfortedbecause the pretty lady had not come also, and the Tyro was well fain tojoin him in his lamentations. Only the threatening advance of DiedrickSperry, with a prominent and satisfactory decoration in dusky blueprotruding from his forehead, roused him to a temporary zest in life.Mr. Sperry came, breathing threats and future slaughter, but met adisconcertingly cold and undisturbable gleam of the gray eye.
"If you interfere with me again," said the Tyro, "I'll throw youoverboard."
And it was said in such evident good faith that his opponent deemed itbest to forget that matter, vaguely suspecting that he had encountereda "professional."
A more fearsome opponent bore down upon the depressed scion of all theSmiths, late that afternoon. Mrs. Charlton Denyse maneuvered him into acurve of the rail, and there held him with her glittering eye.
"I beg your pardon." This, pitched on a flat and haughty level ofvocality, was her method of opening the conversation.
The Tyro sought refuge in the example of classic lore. "You haven'toffended me," he said, patterning his response upon the White Queen."Perhaps you're going to," he added apprehensively.
"I am going to talk to you for your own good," was the chill retort.
"Oh, Lord! That's worse."
"Do you see that ship?" The Denyse hand pointed, rigid as a bar, to thesouth, where the Tyro discerned a thin smudge of smoke.
"I see something."
"That is the Nantasket."
"At this distance I can't deny it," murmured the Tyro.
"Which left New York two days behind us, and is now overhauling us,owing to our accident."
He received this news with a bow.
"On board her is Henry Clay Wayne," she continued weightily.
"Congratulations on your remarkable keenness of vision!" exclaimed theTyro.
"Don't be an imbecile," said the lady, "I didn't see him. I learned bywireless."
"Rather a specialty of yours, wireless, isn't it?" he queried.
She shot an edged look at him, but his expression was innocence itself."He will reach England before us."
"Then you don't think he'll board us and make us all walk the plank?"asked the Tyro in an apparent agony of relief.
"Don't get flip--" cried the exasperated lady--"pant," she added barelyin time--"with me. Mr. Wayne will be in England waiting for you."
"Anyway, he can't eat me," the Tyro comforted himself. "Shall I hide inthe stoke-hole? Shall I disguise myself as a rat and go ashore in thecargo? What do you advise?"
"I advise you to keep away from Miss Wayne."
"Yes. You did that before. At present I'm doing so."
"Then continue."
"I shall, until we reach solid earth."
"There my responsibility will cease. Mr. Wayne will know how to protecthis daughter from upstart fortune-hunters."
The Tyro regarded her with an unruffled brow. "Never hunted a fortune inmy life. A modest competence is the extent of my ambition, and I'veattained that, thanking you for your kind interest."
"In the necktie and suspender business, I suppose," she snapped, enragedat her failure to pierce the foe's armor. "It's a crying scandal thatyou should thrust yourself on your betters."
This annoyed the Tyro. Not that he allowed Mrs. Denyse to perceive it.With a bland, reminiscent smile he remarked:--
"Speaking of scandals, I observed a young man, rather informally clad,entering Stateroom 144 D at a late hour last night, in some haste."
"Oh!" gasped Mrs. Denyse, and there was murder in her tones.
"He looked to me like young Sperry."
Mrs. Denyse glowed ocular fire.
"And, according to the list, Stateroom 144 D is occupied by Mrs.Charlton Denyse."
Mrs. Denyse growled an ominous, subterranean growl.
"Now, my dear madam, in view of this fact, which I perceive you do notdeny" (here the lady gave evidence of having a frenzied protest stuck inher throat like a bone), "I would suggest that you cease chaperoning meand attend to the proprieties in your own case. Hi, Dr. Alderson!" hecalled to that unsuspecting savant who was passing, "will you look afterMrs. Denyse for a bit? I fear she's ill." And he made his escape.
What Mrs. Denyse said to Dr. Alderson when she regained the power ofcoherent speech, is beside the purposes of this chronicle. Suffice it tostate that he left in some alarm, believing the unfortunate woman tohave lost her mind.
The Tyro sought out his deck-chair and relapsed into immitigableboredom. He was not the only person aboard to be dissatisfied with theway affairs were developing. As an amateur Cupid, Judge Enderby had beenfancying himself quite decidedly. Noting, however, that there had beenabsolutely no communication between his two young clients that day, hebegan to distrust his diplomacy, and he set about the old, familiarproblem of administering impetus to inertia. Sad though I am to say itof so eminent a member of the bar, his method perilously approachedbetrayal of a client's confidence.
It was after his evening set-to at bridge, when, coming on deck for agood-night sniff of air, he encountered the Tyro who was lugubriouslycontemplating the moon.
"Hah!" he greeted. "How's the dumb palsy?"
"Worse," was the morose reply.
"Haven't seen your pretty little acquaintance about to-day. Have you?"
"No."
"Don't swear at me, young man," reproved the lawyer, mildly.
"I didn't swear at you, sir," said the startled Tyro.
"Not in words, but in tone. Not that I blame you for being put out. Atyour age, to miss the sun from out of the heavens--and Miss Wayne iscertainly a fascinating and dangerous young person. Considering that sheis barely twenty-one, it is quite remarkable."
"Remarkable?" repeated the Tyro vaguely.
"Considering that she is barely twenty-one, I said."
The Tyro rubbed his head. Was loneliness befuddling his brain? "I'mafraid I'm stupid," he apologized.
"I'm afraid your fears are well based."
"But--what's remarkable?"
"It's remarkable that you should be deaf as well as dumb," retorted theother, testily. "To resume: considering that she is barelytwenty-one--not nearly, but barely twenty-one, you'll note--"
"You needn't go any further," cried the youth, suddenly enlightened."Twenty-one is legal age on the high seas?"
"It is."
"Then she's her own mistress and the captain has no more authority overher than over me?"
"So much, I have reason to believe, an eminent legal authority pointedout to the captain yesterday."
"Why didn't that same eminent authority point it out to me before?"
"Before? I object to the implication. I haven't pointed it out to younow. Your own natural, if somewhat sluggish intelligence inferred itfrom a random remark about a friend's age."
"Does she know it?"
"She does."
"Since when?"
"Since some forty-eight hours."
"Then, why on earth didn't she tell me? She knew I didn't dare speak toher. But she never said a word."
"Give me," began the judge, "five" (here the Tyro reached for hispocket, but the other repudiated the gesture with a wave of the hand)"million dollars, and I wouldn't undertake to guess why any femalebetween the ages of one and one hundred years, does or does not do anygiven thing. I'm no soothsayer."
"Then I may speak to her to-morrow, without fear of making trouble?"
"You may certainly speak to her--if you can find her. As for trouble, Iwouldn't care to answer for you," chuckled the judge. "Good-night toyou."
The Tyro sat up late, asking questions of the moon, who, being also offeminine gender, obstinately declined to betray the secrets of the sex.