"I see Madame Bottle!" suddenly exclaimed Schwab, rising clumsily from
the deck-chair into which he had subsided. The others rose also and
hastened along the deck towards a group of two ladies and a gentleman
coming in their direction. Schwab at once took possession of Mrs.
Pottle; the others manoeuvred for the place at Ethel's left hand, the
right being occupied by her father. Desjardins lost his chance by
waiting to make an elaborate bow; Morton, for all his bluntness, was a
bashful man; so that Bob had no great difficulty in securing the
position. Morton consoled himself by arranging deck-chairs for the
ladies, and the company grouped themselves, Schwab still next to Mrs.
Pottle, and Bob retaining his place at Ethel's left hand.
"We've been hearing of your English lessons to Ah-Sam," said Morton to
Ethel.
"Have you? Oh yes! I don't like his pidgin English at all. It would
be so much nicer if he could speak properly, and the poor man is really
so eager to learn."
"How does he get on?" asked Bob.
"I think he is improving, but it is very slow. I read in a magazine the
other day that learning to recite poetry is a great help, so I have been
teaching him a very easy little poem, explaining it as I go along in
just the same simple language I use to my Sunday-school class. He is so
intelligent."
"There he is," said Bob. "Let us see what he makes of it" (with a
glance at Desjardins). "You don't mind, Miss Charteris?"
"Not at all," replied Ethel, with a faint blush, "--if you are not too
severe an examiner."
"Here, Ah-Sam!" called Bob.
The Chinaman came up and bowed humbly.
"Miss Charteris has been teaching you about the little busy bee. We
should like to hear you say it."
"My no can talkee missy so-fashion," said Ah-Sam, looking troubled.
"Never mind that. Say it your own way."
Ah-Sam looked at Ethel.
"Come, Ah-Sam," she said; "remember how I explained it to you."
The Chinaman put his hands behind his back, hesitated, then fixed his
eyes on the nearest ventilator, and in his odd sing-song chanted:
"What-for one piecee littee pidgy bee
Wantchee go workee allo bloomin' day-lo?
He go 'long smellum evely littee tlee;
Ch'hoy! catchee jam-jam; bimeby chop-chop wailo!"
The colour of Ethel's cheeks had deepened from pink to scarlet during
this recitation. Morton gave a titter at the second line, then cougned
and looked solemn. At the end they all glanced at one another and burst
into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Ah-Sam looked deprecatingly at
his young mistress, and began to make humble obeisance with his hands.
"Thank you, Ah-Sam," she said. "You said it very nicely. You may go
now.--What a shame!" she added, turning to the others when he had gone,
"to hurt the poor man's feelings so. He did his best."
"And clearly showed that he had studied your commentary more than the
text, as is the way with students of English," said Bob. "Never mind,
Miss Charteris; Ah-Sam's a good fellow. I am hardly yet reconciled to
his transference of allegiance from me to you."
"Nor I," said Mr. Charteris drily, with a grim look at his sister.
"Now, Andrew, don't go into that again," said Mrs. Pottle. "There's no
rule without an exception. Our legislators are mostly right, I allow;
but when they make a law that excludes all Chinamen from our
shores--well, they have to reckon with me. I confess I smuggled Ah-Sam
on board; he's the exception, a most exceptional China boy. Ethel took
a fancy to have him for a servant, and I'll land him right down at San
Francisco, laws or no laws."
Mr. Charteris shrugged.
"Fawcett," he said, "come and take a turn with me. We must talk over
that prospectus--eh, what?"
"Yes, and I must write up my diary for the _Argonaut_," said Mrs.
Pottle, rising, and sailing away towards a table specially reserved for
her beneath the awning. Herr Schwab looked glum on her departure; he
took no part in the conversation of the others, and when Ethel by and by
left the group and strolled away by herself, he too got up, refilled his
big pipe, and walked to a spot where, leaning on the rail, he had Mrs.
Pottle in full view. Puffing solemnly, he watched her for a long time as
she wrote on and on in complete unconsciousness of his lingering gaze.
At last, putting his pipe into his pocket without knocking out the
ashes, he went below. Soon he returned, laden with several bulky tomes,
and staggered up to Mrs. Pottle's sheltered corner, where he placed the
volumes in a pile beside her table, and heaved a sonorous sigh. Mrs.
Pottle looked up, glanced from Schwab's face to the books, then resumed
her writing, just as the German was bringing his right hand down on the
crown of his wideawake. He wiped his gold-rimmed spectacles, replaced
them on his nose, and sighed again.
"Don't you feel well, Mr. Schwab?" said the lady, preparing to pack up
her papers.
"Quite vell, madame, I zank you--egzept in vun sbot," he said. He had
his hat off now, and as Mrs. Pottle looked curiously at him he made her
a profound obeisance, and in a hurried, slightly anxious tone, said:
"I beg leaf, dear madame, to bresent you zese few volumes _Brockhaus
Encyglobaedia_--last edition, viz colour blates."
"Really, Mr. Schwab, it is very good of you, but--no, I couldn't think
of it--I--"
"Ach, it is nozink; it is nozink. Ze Gairman heart, madame, ven it is
touched, do not zink of egsbense; it vibrate only viz sentiment.
Besides, I buy zem halfprice."
Mrs. Pottle had both hands on the table, and was gazing through her
eye-glasses at Schwab in speechless amazement.
"Allow me, dear Madame Bottle, to egsblain. You, no doubt, haf
forgotten ze moment--vy should you regollect?--ven you ar-rive on zis
ship: ze moment ven--vat shall I say?--ven you stickfast in ze
too-narrow gangvay. Oh! madame, zat vas ze obbortunity of my life; I vas
ready. You, Madame Bottle, vas Andromeda; I, Hildebrand Schwab, vas
Berseus. Madame, I bush you zrough.... And at zat
moment--I--fall--in--lov!"
"Oh!" gasped Mrs. Pottle, half rising to escape. But she could not
leave the corner she had so carefully chosen without passing Schwab; his
bulky form concealed her from view; and feeling a prisoner she fell
limply back into her chair.
"Lov!" continued Schwab, as one declaiming an oration; "lov! vat is it?
Madame, I seek it in _Brockhaus Encyglobaedia_, vol. eleven:--'Lov is a
highly gomblex emotion azzoziated viz ze value vun put upon a berson or
a objeck.' Vat, I ask myself, is ze value I put upon zat beautiful
objeck--I should say berson? Madame, I--I cannot gif estimate--I,
Hildebrand Schwab, vat gif estimate by ze zousand. Ergo, I am in lov:
_quod erat demonstrandum_."
Mrs. Pottle said something, and again essayed to flee, but Schwab spread
himself and solemnly waved her down.
"Stay, madame. It is not merely zat I am in lov; I am also in business.
I haf ze honour to offer you double bartnership. My hand, madame, my
heart--my Gairman heart--I blace zem at your feet. And viz zem go ze
rebresentation of ze solid house of Schlagintwert, ze gorresbondence of
ze _Duesseldoerfer Tageblatt_ vat circulate in Werden, Kettwig,
Muelheim, Odenkolin, and ozer blaces; besides fery bromising agencies in
Ruskin edition de luxe, batent mangle, hair restorer, zentrifugal bomp,
bianola--"
Schwab was so intent on his formula that he was not prepared for a
sudden convulsive movement on the part of Mrs. Pottle, who seized her
sunshade, and, sweeping the bulky wooer from her path, fled below. He
stood for a moment in solemn stillness; then he took out his pipe,
emptied it of ash, refilled and lit it, and, blowing great guns,
gathered the volumes into his arms and walked away.
Meanwhile Mrs. Pottle had almost fallen into the arms of her brother,
who was bringing from his cabin a paper to show Bob on deck.
"Now, Jane, Jane," expostulated Mr. Charteris mildly "you are too old to
take flying leaps like that."
"Oh, Andrew, Andrew!" said Mrs. Pottle, with a burst of laughter, "I am
not too old to have an offer."
"What do you mean?"
"My! I can hardly tell you for laughing. I have had a proposal of
marriage--at my age! Guess who from?"
"Not Bob Fawcett?" said Mr Charteris with a sudden grim suspicion.
"Bob Fawcett!" Mrs. Pottle almost shouted with laughter. "You are just
an old goose, Andrew. No; from Mr. Schwab, Hildebrand Schwab, who tried
to woo me with a German encyclopaedia. It just beats anything!"
Mr. Charteris grunted.
"Knows that Isidore left you a pile, I suppose."
"You're not complimentary, Andrew. Mr. Schwab called me a 'beautiful
objeck', fell in love with me because he had to help me up the gangway,
'bush me zrough!' Oh!----"
The recollection was too much for Mrs. Pottle; her portly double chin
shook, and she was breathless with laughter.
"I advise a visit to the stewardess, Jane," said Mr. Charteris.
"Excitement is dangerous--at your age."
"Wait a moment, Andrew," said his sister as he made to ascend the
ladder. "You thought Bob might have fallen a victim to Isidore's pile?
You're as blind as a bat to everything but business. Let me tell you a
secret, sir. Bob is head over ears in love with Ethel."
"Eh?"
"And Ethel, though of course she won't admit it, is, his, well----"
"What?"
"Yes!" said Mrs. Pottle inconsequently. "Don't look so fierce," she
added, patting his arm. "Bob's a good fellow; you won't be disappointed
in him."
"Well, Jane," said Mr. Charteris slowly, "I allow that you surprise me.
I guess I'm pretty well pleased. To be sure, I never reckoned on Ethel
marrying a Britisher; she don't take no stock of 'em as a rule. But
I'll say this: I don't care who the man is--Yankee, Britisher, or
Australian; but if he's a worker, a fellow who'll get on, a good sort,
and real fond of my gal--hang me, he shall have her--if she's willing.
What!"