“She has heard it said!” This was his triumphant shout. I should not
have supposed that Kitty could have turned any redder, but she did. John
buried his nose in his tall glass, and gulped a choking quantity of its
contents, and mopped his face profusely; but little good that effected.
There sat this altogether innocent pair, deeply suffused with the
crimson of apparent guilt, and there stood Kitty’s next husband, eyeing
them suspiciously. My little gratuitous mischief was a perfect success,
and remains with me as one of the bright spots in this day of pleasure.
Vivacious measures from the piano brought Kitty to her feet.
“There’s Gazza!” she cried. “We’ll make him sing!” And on the instant
she was gone down the companionway. Bohm followed her with a less
agitated speed, and soon all were gone below, leaving John and me alone
on the deck, sitting together in silence.
John lolled back in his chair, slowly sipping at his tall glass, and
neither of us made any remark. I think he wanted to ask me how I came to
mention the Duke of Clarence; but I did not see how he very well could,
and he certainly made no attempt to do so. Thus did we sit for some
time, hearing the piano and the company grow livelier and louder with
solos, and choruses, and laughter. By and by the shadow of the awning
shifted, causing me to look up, when I saw the shores slowly changing;
the tide had turned, and was beginning to run out. Land and water lay
in immense peace; the long, white, silent picture of the town with its
steeples on the one hand, and on the other the long, low shore, and the
trees behind. Into this rose the high voice of Gazza, singing in broken
English, “Razzla-dazzla, razzla-dazzla,” while his hearers beat upon
glasses with spoons--at least so I conjectured.
“Aren’t you coming, John?” asked Hortense, appearing at the
companionway. She looked very bacchanalian. Her splendid amber hair was
half riotous, and I was reminded of the toboggan fire-escape.
He obeyed her; and now I had the deck entirely to myself, or, rather,
but one other and distant person shared it with me. The hour had
come, the bells had struck; Charley’s crew was eating its dinner
below forward; Charley’s guests were drinking their liquor below aft;
Charley’s correct meal-flag was to be seen in the port fore rigging, as
he had said, red and triangular; and away off from me in the bow was
the anchor watch, whom I dreamily watched trying to light his pipe.
His matches seemed to be bad; and the brotherly thought of helping
him drifted into my mind--and comfortably out of it again, without
disturbing my agreeable repose. It had been really entertaining in John
to tell Kitty that she ought to see the inside of Kings Port; that was
like his engaging impishness with Juno. If by any possible contrivance
(and none was possible) Kitty and her Replacers could have met
the inside of Kings Port, Kitty would have added one more “quaint”
impression to her stock, and gone away in total ignorance of the quality
of the impression she had made--and Bohm would probably have again
remarked, “Worse than Sunday.” No; the St. Michaels and the Replacers
would never meet in this world, and I see no reason that they should
in the next. John’s light and pleasing skirmish with Kitty gave me the
glimpse of his capacities which I had lacked hitherto. John evidently
“knew his way about,” as they say; and I was diverted to think how Miss
Josephine St. Michael would have nodded over his adequacy and shaken
her head at his squandering it on such a companion. But it was no
squandering; the boy’s heavy spirit was making a gallant “bluff” at
playing up with the lively party he had no choice but to join, and this
one saw the moment he was not called upon to play up.
The peaceful loveliness that floated from earth and water around me
triumphed over the jangling hilarity of the cabin, and I dozed away,
aware that they were now all thumping furiously in chorus, while Gazza
sang something that went, “Oh, she’s my leetle preety poosee pet.”
When I roused, it was Kitty’s voice at the piano, but no change in the
quality of the song or the thumping; and Hortense was stepping on
deck. She had a cigarette, her beauty flashed with devilment, and John
followed her. “They are going to have an explanation,” I thought, as I
saw his face. If that were so, then Kitty had blundered in her strategy
and hurt Charley’s cause; for after the two came Gazza, as obviously
“sent” as any emissary ever looked: Kitty took care of the singing,
while Gazza intercepted any tete-a-tete. I rose and made a fourth with
them, and even as I was drawing near, the devilment in Hortense’s face
sank inward beneath cold displeasure.
I had never been a welcome person to Hortense, and she made as little
effort to conceal this as usual. Her indifferent eyes glanced at me with
drowsy insolence, and she made her beautiful, low voice as remote and
inattentive as her skilful social equipment could render it.
“It is so hot in the cabin.”
This was all she had for me. Then she looked at Gazza with returning
animation.
“Oh, la la!” said Gazza. “If it is hot in the cabin!” And he flirted his
handkerchief back and forth.
“I think I had the best of it,” I remarked. “All the melody and none of
the temperature.”