GLUM DAYS FOR MR. RIDGE
Gibraltar. And the ship stopping only long enough to receive the mail
and take on passengers; then off again.
During the voyage in the Bay of Biscay, Veath had done all in his power
to relieve Hugh of the boredom which is supposed to fall upon the man
who has a sister clinging to him. At first Hugh rather enjoyed the
situation, but as Veath's amiable sacrifice became more intense, he grew
correspondingly uncomfortable. It was not precisely what he had
bargained for. There was nothing in Veath's manner which could have been
objectionable to the most exacting of brothers.
When he was trespassing Hugh hated him, but when they were together,
with Grace absent, he could not but admire the sunny-faced, frank,
stalwart Indianian. When Hugh's heart was sorest, a slap on the back
from Veath, a cheery word and an unspoken pledge of friendship brought
shame to take the place of resentment.
She was troubled, as well as he, by the turn of affairs; her distress
managed to keep her awake of nights, especially when she began to
realize there was no escape from consequences. That usually pleasant
word "brother" became unbearable to her; she began to despise it. To
him, the word "sister" was the foundation for unpublishable impressions.
Poor Veath knew nothing of all this and continued to "show Miss Ridge a
good time." On the second night out of Gibraltar, he and Grace were
strolling the deck. He was happy, she in deep despair. Down at the other
end of the deck-house, leaning over the rail, smoking viciously, was
Hugh, alone, angry, sulky. It was a beautiful night, cool and crisp,
calm and soft. A rich full moon threw its glorious shimmer across the
waves, flashing a million silvery blades along the watery pavement that
seemed to lead to the end of the world. Scores of passengers were
walking the deck, and all were happy, save two.
For two days Hugh had found but little chance to speak with Grace. She
had plotted and calculated and so had he, but Veath gallantly upset
the plans.
"This can't go on any longer, or I'll go back," vowed Hugh as he glared
with gloomy eyes at the innocent path of silver.
"Your brother is not very sociable of late, is he, Miss Ridge?" asked
Veath, as they turned once more up the deck toward the disconsolate
relative. "There are a great many pretty young women on board, but he
seems to ignore them completely. I haven't seen him speak to a woman in
two days."
"Perhaps he is in love," she murmured half sedately. Poor, lonely Hugh!
How she longed to steal up from behind and throw her arms about his
neck. Even though both fell overboard, it would be a pleasure, it
seemed to her.
"We ought to go over and jolly him up a bit," suggested Veath,
innocently magnanimous. She hated him at that moment.
"He is probably enjoying himself better than if we were with him," she
said rather coldly.
"Lovers usually like moonshine," he said.
"I did not say he was in love; 'perhaps' was the word, I think," said
Grace.
"I believe one of the rules of love is that a brother never confides in
his sister. At any rate, she is sure to be among the last."
"I think Hugh would tell _me_ of his love affairs," she answered, a
merry sparkle coming into her eyes. "He thinks a great deal of my
opinions."
"And I suppose you tell him of your love affairs," he said jestingly.
She blushed furiously.
"He has a whole book full of my confidences," she finally said, seeking
safety in exaggeration.
"Quite an interesting volume. How does it end? With an elopement?"
"Elopement! What do you--oh, ah, I--ha, ha! Wouldn't that be a jolly way
to end it?" She laughed hysterically, recovering quickly from the
effects of the startling, though careless question. For a few moments
her heart throbbed violently.
Hugh came swinging toward them, his cigar tilted upward at an unusual
angle because of the savage position of the lower jaw. His hands were
jammed into his pockets and his cap was drawn well down over his eyes.
He was passing without a word, ignoring them more completely than if
they had been total strangers. He would, at least, have glanced at
strangers.
"Hello, Mr. Ridge, going below?" called Veath.
"I'm going wherever the ship goes," came the sullen reply.
"Hope _she's_ not going below," laughed the disturber.
"It's my only hope," was the bitter retort from the companionway.
"He's certainly in love, Miss Ridge. Men don't have the blues like that
unless there's a woman in the case. I think you'd better talk to your
brother. Tell him she'll be true, and if she isn't, convince him that
there are just as good fish in the sea. Poor fellow, I suppose he thinks
she's the only woman on earth," commented Mr. Veath, with mock
solemnity.
"She may be as much at sea as he," she said,--and very truthfully.
"Well, if love dies, there is a consolation in knowing that the sea
casts up its dead," was his sage, though ill-timed remark.
Grace slept but little that night, and went early to breakfast in the
hope that she might see Hugh alone. But he came in late, haggard and
pale, living evidence of a sleepless night. Veath was with him and her
heart sank. During the meal the good-natured Indianian did most of the
talking, being driven at last, by the strange reticence of his
companions, to the narration of a series of personal experiences.
Struggle as he would, he could not bring a mirthful laugh from the girl
beside him, nor from the sour visaged man beyond. They laughed, of
course, but it was the laugh of politeness.
"I wonder if she is in love, too," shot through his mind, and a thrill
of regret grew out of the possibility. Once his eye caught her in the
act of pressing Hugh's hand as it was being withdrawn from sight. With a
knowing smile he bent close to her and whispered: "That's right, cheer
him up!" Grace admitted afterward that nothing had ever made her quite
so furious as that friendly expression.
But jealousy is jealousy. It will not down. The next three days were
miserable ones for Hugh. The green-eyed monster again cast the cloak of
moroseness over him--swathed him in the inevitable wet blanket, as it
were. During the first two days Veath had performed a hundred little
acts of gallantry which fall to the lot of a lover but hardly to that of
a brother--a score of things that would not have been observed by the
latter, but which were inwardly cursed by the lover. Hugh began to have
the unreasonable fear that she cared more for Veath's society than she
did for his. He was in ugly humor at lunch time and sent a rather
peremptory message to Grace's room, telling her that he was hungry and
asking her to get ready at once. The steward brought back word that she
was not in her room. She had been out since ten o'clock.
Without a word Ridgeway bolted to Veath's room and knocked at the door.
There was no response. The steward, quite a distance down the
passageway, heard the American gentleman swear distinctly and
impressively.
He ate his luncheon alone,--disconsolate, furious, miserable. Afterward
he sought recreation and finally went to his room, where he tried to
read. Even that was impossible.
Some time later he heard her voice, then Veath's.
"I wonder if Hugh is in his room?" she was asking.
"He probably thinks we've taken a boat and eloped Shall I rap and see?"
came in Veath's free voice.
"Please--and we'll tell him where we have been."
"You will like thunder!" hissed Hugh to himself, glaring at the door as
if he could demolish it.
Then came a vigorous pounding on the panel; but he made no move to
respond. Again the knocking and a smile, not of mirth, overspread
his face.
"Knock! Confound you! You can't get in!" he growled softly but
triumphantly. Veath tried the knob, but the door was locked.
"He's not in, Miss Ridge. I'll see if I can find him. Good-by--see you
at luncheon."
Then came Grace's voice, sweet and untroubled: "Tell him we'll go over
the ship another time with _him_."
"Over the ship," growled Hugh almost loud enough to be heard. "So
they're going to square it by taking brother with them another time--eh?
Well, not if I know it! I'll show her what's what!" A minute later he
rapped at Miss Vernon's stateroom. She was removing her hat before the
mirror, and turning quickly as the irate Hugh entered, she cried:
"Hello, Hugh! Where have you been, dear?"
"Dear! Don't call me dear," he rasped.
"Why, Hugh, dear,--Mr. Veath looked everywhere for you this morning. I
said I would not go unless he could find you. You would have enjoyed
it so much."
"And you really wanted me?" he asked guiltily.
"Of course, I did--we both did. Won't you ever understand that I love
you--and you alone?"
"I guess I'll never understand love at all," he mused.
"Now where were you all morning?" she demanded.
"He didn't look in the right place, that's all."
"Where was the right place?"
"It happened to be in the wrong place," he said. He had been playing a
social game of bridge in the room of one of the passengers. At this
moment Veath was heard at the door. Hugh heartily called out to him,
bidding him to enter.
"Why, here you are! Been looking everywhere for you, old man. Sorry you
were not along this morning," said the newcomer, shaking
Ridgeway's hand.
"I didn't care to see the ship," said Hugh hastily.
"Why, how funny!" cried Grace. "How did you know we had been over the
ship?"
"Instinct," he managed to gulp in the confusion.
Veath started for the dining-room, followed by Grace and Hugh,
the latter refraining from mentioning that he had already
lunched--insufficiently though it had been; but with the return of
reason had come back his appetite and gradually he felt the old
happiness sifting into his heart.