THERE was nothing especially interesting about that prolonged grunt of
the old _Zizania_ down the California coast. She rolled and thrashed,
and the brisk trades spattered spray over her bows, and she certainly
took her own time in moving along.
We all settled down to endure the trip as best we could, but it was a
rather surly party. Forward, the blacks and whites nursed their scars
and their grudge; aft, Keedy and I scowled at each other so much that
nobody could be happy around where we were. Miss Kama walked the deck
alone, or read, or embroidered in her state-room; once in a while I got
a glimpse of her through the door while she was at work. She continued
to sit beside me at table, but she was very cool and distant. I don’t
know as I tried to have her anything else. I would have liked to lean
over the rail and talk with her, though I never presumed to speak to her
on deck. Take a fellow when he is young, penned aboard a slow packet, a
pretty girl near him all the time, and you bet he cannot confine all his
thought to the scenery and his job.
She truly was a pretty girl! I can see her now as she strode to and fro
on the upper deck, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her white
sweater, and drawing it forward so that it set off her plumpness. There
was a sort of indescribable tousle to her hair, if I may put it that
way. I don’t know what the color was--there’s no name for those shades
of copper and brown and all that.