"I wish I were a man," Sallie sighed mournfully, and gazed down at her
very dainty tailor-made skirt, a habit of hers when she wants to engage
upon something a woman should not do. Then turning half round and
dancing before me backwards, she burst out, "But I should so love it.
Do take me, _pleeeeeeeeease_."
"Sallie," I said, "there's an old lady opposite who is struck speechless
by your salvation tactics."
"Oh! bother the old lady," she laughed. "Now we'll go and telegraph."
When I left Sallie, I had telegraphed an acceptance to Jack and wired to
Malcolm. Sallie composed telegrams, which must have caused them some
surprise on account of their extreme cordiality. We then parted, Sallie
to call on Dora, I to telephone to Peake that he might after all pack my
bag, although there were three days in which to do it. As a matter of
fact I did not feel equal to that I-never-doubted-you'd-go-sir look in
his eyes.
*II*
Victoria Station had been agreed upon as the rendezvous, and there we
met. Sallie looked demurely trim and appropriately dressed. Dora seemed
to have got confused between a yachting-trip and a garden-party, and had
struck an unhappy medium between the two. Dora has what is known to
women as "a French figure"; but what to man remains a mystery; she also
has fair hair and a something in the eye that makes men look at her with
interest and women with disapproval.
Malcolm is all legs and arms and sketch-book. He was quite appropriately
dressed in a Norfolk knickerbocker suit, with a straw hat and an
umbrella--appropriately dressed, that is, for anything but yachting.
Malcolm is a marine-painter, and what he does not know about the sea and
boats need not concern either yachtsman or artist. He is tall and thin,
with the temper of an angel, the caution of a good sailor and the
courage of a lion. He waves his arms about like semaphores, rates woman
lower than a barge, and never fails to earn the respect of sailormen.
Malcolm is a man of strange capacities and curious limitations. Anybody
will do anything for him, porters carry his luggage with no thought of
tips, editors publish his drawings, whether they want to or no, people
purchase his pictures without in the least understanding them, and,
finally, everybody accepts him without comment, much as they do a Bank
Holiday or an eclipse.
Sallie and Dora between them had only a small valise, whereas Malcolm
carried a sketch-book and an umbrella. He, as I, was depending upon
Carruthers for all save a tooth-brush.
There was the inevitable delay on the line, and we were over an hour
late. Sallie was in a fever of excitement lest the _Hilda_ should sail
without us. Malcolm, with that supreme lack of tact so characteristic
of him, explained what a ticklish business it was getting out of
Sheerness Harbour under sail with the wind in its present quarter. He
thought that in all probability the auxiliary motor had broken down, and
that the _Hilda_ would have to depend upon canvas to get out, in which
case she must have sailed half-an-hour before.
When we eventually drew into the station, out of the train, down the
platform, through the gates, into the street, sped Malcolm, and we, like
"panting time toiled after him in vain." He waved his umbrella to us to
hurry, not knowing that Dora has a deplorably short wind. On he tore,
and finally disappeared through the pier-gates without, as we afterwards
found, paying his toll, a privilege he had generously delegated to us.
When we in turn passed through the gates, it was to find Malcolm
hysterically waving his umbrella, apparently at the Medway guardship.
Suddenly the truth dawned upon us, the _Hilda_ had sailed. Probably
Carruthers had not received the telegram.
Arrived at the pierhead we saw the _Hilda_ off the Isle of Grain, two
miles distant, slowly slipping out of the Medway against the tide with
the aid of her auxiliary motor. The sight was one of the most
depressing that I have ever experienced. We looked at each other
blankly.
"It's the cup of Tantalus," I murmured, with classical resignation.
"It's that damned auxiliary motor," muttered the practical Malcolm.
"Commong faire?" enquired Dora, who is inclined occasionally to lapse
into French on the strength of her figure. "Commong faire?"
"Noo verrong," replied Malcolm in what he conceives to be the Gallic
tongue.
I made no remark, but with Sallie stood idly watching a steam-pinnace
approaching the pier-head from the Medway guardship that lay moored
directly opposite.
"I know!" Sallie suddenly said, and I knew that she really did know.
There are moments when I am at a loss to understand why I do not run
away with Sallie and marry her in spite of herself, merely as a
speculative investment. She is exquisitely ornamental, and her utility
equals her aesthetic qualities; more would be impossible.
At Sallie's exclamation Dora and Malcolm drew towards us.
"Tell me the name of an admiral," Sallie cried, her large, grey eyes
diverted from epic contemplation of the universe to a lyric
mischievousness. "I want an admiral."
"Try a lieutenant to begin with," Malcolm suggested, and was withered.
"An admiral," said Dora. "Nelson; he was an admiral, wasn't----?"
"Van Tromp, Blake, Benbow, Villeneuve, Collingwood, St. Vincent,
Cochrane----" glibly responded Malcolm.
As the responses were uttered at the same time, Sallie probably heard
little of what was said. Suddenly becoming very calm, she addressed
herself to Malcolm.
"I want to know the name of an English admiral of the present day. Are
there any?"
"Plenty," responded Malcolm. "Crosstrees (I dare not give the real
name), First Sea Lord, May, Meux, Jellicoe, Beresford, Scott, Beatty."
"Is Admiral Crosstrees married?" queried Sallie calmly. "Has he
grown-up daughters? Is he old?"
"Any First Sea Lord who has not grown-up daughters has evaded his
responsibilities as an officer and a gentleman," I remarked.
Suddenly Sallie took command. Motioning us back, she went to the
extreme end of the pier and looked down. A moment later, the white top
of a naval cap appeared above the edge, followed by a fair face and five
feet six of a sub-lieutenant. Sallie addressed herself to him, and,
taking advantage of his obvious confusion, said: "Will you please take
us out to that yacht," pointing to the _Hilda_. "She has gone without
us, and----well, we want to get on board."
When the sub. had recovered from Sallie's smile and her carnation tint,
he stammered his regret.
"I'm most awfully sorry; but I'm here to take liberty men aboard. I'm,
I'm, afraid I can't, otherwise I would with er--er--er----"
"What are liberty men?" questioned Sallie, looking at him with grey-eyed
gravity.
"Men who have been ashore on leave," was the response.
"Can you signal to that?" asked Sallie with guile, nodding at the
guardship.
"I beg pardon," replied the bewildered sub, fast breaking up beneath
Sallie's gaze.
"Does the captain know the First Sea Lord, Admiral Crosstrees?"
"I--I don't know," he replied, "I----"
"I am Miss Crosstrees. Will you please tell me who you are. I should
like to know, because you are the first officer I have met who has been
discourteous to me. I will not trouble you further," and she moved away
like an outraged Mrs. Siddons.
"I--I'm awfully sorry, Miss Crosstrees. I didn't know----of
course----if you can get down. I will most certainly----" He collapsed
into confused silence.
"You will take us then?" Sallie questioned, approaching two steps nearer
to him.
"Certainly: but er--er--can you--er?"
Sallie looked down. A perpendicular iron ladder led down to the pinnace
some thirty feet below. It was not pleasant for a woman.
"Will you go down and--and----" faltered Sallie. He was a nice youth,
who understood and disappeared, I after him. Then came Sallie, easily
and naturally as if accustomed to such ladders all her life. Dora
followed, almost hysterical with fear, and finally came Malcolm, with
his umbrella and the valise in one hand and his sketch-book between his
teeth. I could see the men were impressed with his performance.
I did not at all like the adventure. It might end very unpleasantly for
some of us, and the "some," I knew, would be Malcolm and me. I was by no
means reassured when I saw that the sub. was steering the pinnace
directly for the guardship. Did he suspect? I racked my brains to try
and recollect if the First Sea Lord were married, if he had a family,
if----. It was as if from far away that I heard the sub, hailing the
guardship through a megaphone.
"Admiral Crosstrees' daughter wishes to be put aboard that yacht, sir.
Am I----"
"Certainly," came the reply, as the officer of the watch came to the
side and saluted. Hands bobbed up from everywhere, and it seemed as if a
dead ship had suddenly been galvanised into life. Sallie's bow and
smile were much appreciated, every man taking it unto himself. That is
Sallie's way. She can slay a regiment or a ship's company with a
glance, whilst another woman is exhausting herself in trying to enlist
the interest of a stockbroker.
Out we rushed after the _Hilda_. Sallie, now that she had gained her
point, became absorbed in contemplating the Isle of Grain, and watching
the white wake of the pinnace. Occasionally a slight, half-sad,
half-contemplative smile would flit across her features. She had
forgotten everything--yachts, pinnaces, subs, and was just alone with
the things that mattered, the sea, the sky, and the green fields.
Dora chatted with the sub., whose eyes repeatedly wandered to where
Sallie was standing quite oblivious to his presence. Malcolm was in
deep converse with one of the crew, whilst I watched the others,
especially Sallie. I find it difficult to keep my eyes off Sallie when
she is within their range. She is an interesting study for a man with
the chilled physique of a St. Anthony; for the rest of us she is a
maddening problem.
The _Hilda_ was labouring dully, heavily through the broken water,
whilst we raced, bobbed, jumped and tore after her.
Malcolm hailed her through the megaphone, and there came back in
Carruthers' drawling voice:
"Awfully glad you've come!"
The bowman brought the pinnace dexterously under the _Hilda's_ port
quarter, and Sallie clutched at the yacht's shrouds and sprang aboard.
The sub. watched her with frank admiration. Sallie does everything in
the open most thoroughly well. I have seen her fall flat on her face at
the winning-post in her determination not to be beaten by a
longer-legged and swifter opponent. How truly admirable she was, struck
us all very vividly as we strove to hoist, pull, and push Dora, aboard.
In spite of its aesthetic glory, Dora's figure possesses very obvious
limitations in the matter of surmounting obstacles.
Immediately she was on board, Sallie went up to Carruthers and gravely
shook hands (Sallie hates being kissed, I speak from careful
observation), and drew him aside.
"Jack, until that steam launch is out of sight I'm Miss Crosstrees,
daughter of the First Sea Lord. Don't let any of the crew give me
away."
"Or the guardship will sink us," I added.
Carruthers looked puzzled, but with a cheery, "all right, Sallie, my
bonnie," he went to the side to thank the sub. Carruthers would
cheerfully imperil his immortal soul for Sallie. The sub. was brought
aboard, and we all drank to the eyes that are brightest, in 1900
Champagne, I have forgotten the brand. The sub. was very obvious, and
we all guessed the eyes he pledged--all save Sallie.
As the sub. stood at the side preparatory to descending into the
pinnace, Sallie held out her hand, which he took as if it had been some
saintly relic.
"I shall always remember your kindness, Mr. ----" (I dare not give his
name for fear of the Admiralty censuring him). Then with an arch look
added, "I shall tell my father." And the pinnace that had brought a
sub. went away with a potential Sea Lord. When the pinnace was about a
hundred yards off Dora waved her handkerchief. "Why is it that Dora
does these things?" I saw the mute question in Sallie's eyes. The men
would have cheered had they dared.
"Carruthers," I remarked as the pinnace sped away from us, "will you put
me ashore at once?"
"Why, old man?" he questioned blankly.
"Your most excellent sister," I retorted, "has been posing as the
daughter of the First Sea Lord of the Admiralty, without even knowing if
he be married or no. I call it disgraceful, and it is likely to produce
a pained feeling in Whitehall when it becomes known. That sub. is bound
to write to the Admiralty and demand the command of a Super-Dreadnought
for his services. I demand to be put ashore at once."
When Carruthers had heard the story he laughed loud and long, and,
putting his arm round Sallie, proclaimed hers the best brain in the
family.
The log of the Medway guardship would persist in obtruding itself upon
my vision. There would be an entry relating to the First Sea Lord's
daughter and the service rendered her. The wretched business haunted
me. I sought out "Who's Who"; but that gave me no assistance. If the
First Sea Lord had a daughter, it might be all right; but if he had not?
However, there was nothing to be done but to try to enjoy the trip, and
forget the Admiralty.
The _Hilda_ is a 200-ton barge-rigged, sailing yacht, possessed of an
auxiliary motor; a boon to the wind or tide-bound yachtsman. Some men
affect to despise the aid of a motor, but Carruthers argues that a
mariner is not less a mariner because he harnesses to his needs an
explosive-engine and a propeller.
Once aboard the _Hilda_ I felt that our adventures were ended. It was
perfect weather for idling. The previous day's rain had cleared the
heavens of all but a few filmy clouds. There was a good sailing breeze,
and the _Hilda_ bent gravely over as she cut through the water on her
way seawards. Malcolm was for'ard, lying on his back looking aloft at
the swelling canvas. There is no sight so grand or pleasing to a
yachtsman's eye as that obtained from this position, and Malcolm knows
it. Carruthers was at the helm flirting outrageously with Dora. Sallie
was talking with old Jones, the bo'sun and mate, about his latest
grandson.
The crew of the _Hilda_ are to a man devoted to Sallie. Tidings that
she is to be one of a cruising party means much and self-imposed extra
labour, both as regards the _Hilda_ herself and her crew. Everything
and everybody are smartened up, and Vincent, the cook, ages perceptibly
under the strain of thinking out a menu that shall tempt Sallie to eat.
His brow never clears until Sallie has paid him the customary visit of
ceremony, which to him is more in the nature of a religious rite.
"Chef"; (she always called him "chef") "it was delicious! Thank you
very much indeed," Sallie would say with a grave and gracious smile
befitting so great an occasion, a happy, boyish look would spread itself
over Vincent's sombre features, and the crew would know that there was
to be some dainty at their next meal; for Vincent, when happy, which was
extremely seldom, radiated good-will and distributed his largess with
unstinting hand.
There is no ecstasy like that of idleness, and no idleness to compare
with that felt upon a yacht running before a breeze. Yesterday's
troubles are wiped out, and to-morrow's anxieties seem too far off for
serious consideration. I was standing musing upon the beauty of the
day, watching the _Hilda's_ track which seemed to trail off into
infinity, when I became conscious that the little streak of grey smoke
that I had been gazing at for some time came from the funnels of a
destroyer, which was evidently being pushed. She was fetching us back
to her at a rare pace, and was obviously heading our way. For some
minutes I continued idly to watch her. Suddenly the old misgiving
assailed me.
Sallie's deception had been discovered, and the irate captain of the
guardship had sent to demand an explanation. I strolled over to
Carruthers and told him my fears. He grinned with obvious enjoyment.
Carruthers is imperturbable. He looked over his shoulder at the
destroyer. After a time he called to Sallie, who was sitting amidships,
musing.
"They're coming to fetch you, Sallie," he said cheerfully, and then
explained his fears. "Shall we fight for you, my girl, or calmly give
you up?"
Sallie clapped her hands with glee. To be chased by a warship was a
novelty she enjoyed to its fullest extent.
"Will they fire, do you think?" she enquired of Malcolm, trembling with
eagerness.
"They'll probably megaphone us to come up into the wind," responded the
practical Malcolm.
Sallie's face fell. I really believe she half hoped that the destroyer
would endeavour to sink the _Hilda_. By this time everyone aboard had
become conscious that something unusual was happening. The crew stood
grouped amidships, talking in undertones and casting side-glances at our
little party standing round the wheel. It was now apparent to all that
we were the destroyer's objective. On she came like a mad thing, her
grey snout tearing at the waters and throwing them over her humped-up
shoulders. She looked like some wicked gnome bent on the ruin of the
inoffensive _Hilda_. Sallie's eyes danced with glee. She had never seen
anything so magnificent as this sinister creature that came bounding
towards us. We all watched breathlessly. Presently a crisp, metallic
voice sounded through the megaphone:
"Yacht ahoy! we want to board you."
A few sharp words from Carruthers and we flew hither and thither, and
soon the _Hilda_ with mains'l and tops'l brailed came up into the wind.
It was all quietly and prettily done, and our nimbleness much impressed
the destroyer's crew, as we afterwards learned.
The destroyer was soon beside us. We expected another megaphone
message; but no, they were lowering a boat. Dora became anxious and
asked, could we not hide Sallie? Nothing short of extreme physical force
could have hidden Sallie at that moment.
The destroyer's boat was soon under our lee, and an officer with the
stripes of a lieutenant-commander sprang aboard and saluted Dora and
Sallie. The _Hilda's_ crew stood gazing at us in undisguised amazement.
What was going to happen?
Sallie stepped forward.
The officer looked round as if seeking someone.
"Can I speak to Miss Crosstrees?" he enquired, looking from one to the
other.
"I am Miss Crosstrees," said Sallie stepping forward.
A look of bewilderment spread itself over the young man's face. Then,
as if with sudden inspiration, he plunged his hand into his waistcoat
pocket and withdrew a small gold pencil case and held it out to Sallie.
"I think you dropped this in the pinnace. The captain of the
guardship--er--er--sent me after you with it." The poor fellow seemed
covered with confusion.
"Thank you," Sallie said, as she looked up at him with great, grave, but
smiling eyes and with that damnable demureness that sends men mad about
her, "but it isn't mine. I didn't drop anything in the launch. Thank
you so much," she smiled. "It is so kind of Captain ----. Will you
thank him for taking so much trouble?" Then after a moment's pause she
added, "No; I will write," and beckoning me to follow she descended to
the cabin, where she wrote two blazing indiscretions, one to the Captain
of the guardship and the other to the sublieutenant who had taken us off
to the _Hilda_. I strove to prevent her: I remonstrated, I
expostulated, I implored; but to no purpose. All I was there for, it
appeared, was to tell her that a launch was not a pinnace, to post her
as to other technicalities and to do the spelling. When we returned on
deck the L.-C. was drinking champagne, whilst the crew of the
destroyer's boat drank a mute toast in grog. In their pockets they had
already stowed away a handful of Carruthers' cigars.
With much goodwill the boat put off, was hoisted aboard the destroyer,
which swung round and, with a valedictory moan from her syren, darted
off home again bearing important despatches from Sallie to the Captain
of the Medway guardship and one of his junior officers.
"What did you say in that note?" I enquired of Sallie, visions of a
prosecution for forgery flitting through my mind.
"Oh, I just thanked him," said Sallie nonchalantly; but I saw by the
dancing lights in her eyes that there was something else.
"And----?" I interrogated.
"Oh! I told him the truth and asked him to come to tea and bring that
nice boy who had helped us."
"Sallie," I remarked severely, "captains of battleships do not generally
take their junior officers out to tea."
But Sallie only smiled.
Later the cause of the young officer's confusion was explained in a
letter he wrote to Sallie. He was engaged to Miss Crosstrees.
There was an unusual silence at the conclusion of the story, unbroken
even by Bindle's mallet. Bindle insisted on a mallet upon being elected
as chairman. It was obvious that Sallie had cast her spell over the
Night Club.
"I'd a-liked to 'ave been one o' them officers. A real sport 'im wot
didn't give 'er away," remarked Bindle at length meditatively. Then
turning to me he enquired:
"Don't yer think, sir, we ought to sort o' revise them rules about
ladies? We didn't ought to be narrow-minded."
"He's got Sallyitis," laughed Carruthers.
"Yes, I got it bad, sir," flashed Bindle, "an' I want a smile from 'er
wot give it to me."
"What about your views on hens?" enquired Dare.
"Well, sir," replied Bindle with quiet self-possession, "a single little
'en won't do us any 'arm."
And that is how it came about that Sallie Carruthers was unanimously
elected a member of the Night Club.
I doubt if anything ever gave Sallie greater pleasure than this tribute,
particularly as she was always treated as one of ourselves, except by
Angell Herald, who could never forget that he was something of a
"ladies' man."
*CHAPTER III*
*THE PRIME MINISTER DECIDES TO ADVERTISE*
One of the characteristics of the Night Club is its mixed membership.
"Rummy crowd, ain't we?" Bindle had remarked to Sallie Carruthers the
first night she was present. "There ain't a pair anywheres, except
p'raps you an' me, miss."
And so it was, the only thing we have in common is our humanity. To see
Angell Herald doing the "ladies' man" to Sallie is a sight that gives
the rest of us a peculiar joy.
"'E do work 'ard, an' she bears it like a good un," was Bindle's
comment.
Angell Herald's views on women are those of the _bon viveur_ of the
saloon bar. When he addresses Sallie his whole manner changes, just as
most people's idiom undergoes revision when they write a letter. You
can see the dear fellow pulling himself together and, metaphorically,
shooting out his cuffs and straightening his tie as a preliminary to
opening fire. His manners are superb, elaborate, suburban. If Sallie
happen to wander near the door, Angell Herald dashes forward and opens
it, attracting general attention and arresting everybody's conversation.
"He's got more manners than breeding," Dare once whispered to me after a
particularly elaborate demonstration of Herald's politeness. If Sallie
rises, Herald comes to his feet with a suddenness that has been known to
overset his chair.
He has no humour, but many jokes--most of which are for men only. It
took him some time to gauge his company, when Dick Little introduced him
to our circle, and it came about thus.
One evening he had told a particularly pointless "man's story," and his
was the only laugh that announced its conclusion. Dick Little strove to
smooth over the hiatus; but Bindle, whose disgust was obvious, had
thrown a bomb upon troubled waters by enquiring of Dick Little with
great innocence, "Let me see, sir, I think you said you was out o'
carbolic'!" From that date Angell Herald's stories were merely
pointless without being obscene. Sallie's presence was a good
influence.
In spite of his limitations, Angell Herald is not a bad fellow, and he
told us many amusing stories of the "publicity" world. He knows Fleet
Street thoroughly from the "box-office" point of view, and he seems to
regard the editorial aspect of the newspaper world with amused
tolerance. "Where would those scribblers be," he would enquire with
fine scorn, "without adverts.? Yet would you believe it," he had once
said to Dare, "they look down upon us?"
"Most extraordinary," Dare had responded.
"Still it's a fact," Angell Herald had assured him, with the air of a
man who knows from a friend at the Admiralty that fifty German
submarines were sunk during the previous week.
Angell Herald was always the publicity agent, even when telling his
stories. Dare had once said with great truth, "There is more herald
than angel about the dear chap."