“The singer has the worst of it,” said Gazza.
“But since you all sang!” I laughed.
“Miss Rieppe, she is cool,” continued Gazza. “And she danced. It is not
fair.”
John contributed nothing. He was by no means playing up now. He was
looking away at the shore.
Gazza hummed a little fragment. “But after lunch I will sing you good
music.”
“So long as it keeps us cool,” I suggested.
“Ah, no! It will not be cool music!” cried Gazza--“for those who
understand.”
“Are those boys bathing?” Hortense now inquired.
We watched the distant figures, and presently they flashed into the
water.
“Oh, me!” sighed Gazza. “If I were a boy!”
Hortense looked at him. “You would be afraid.” The devilment had come
out again, suddenly and brilliantly:
“I never have been afraid!” declared Gazza.
“You would not jump in after me,” said Hortense, taking his measure more
and more provokingly.
Gazza laid his hand on his heart. “Where you go, I will go!”
Hortense looked at him, and laughed very slightly and lightly.
“I swear it! I swear!” protested Gazza.
John’s eyes were now fixed upon Hortense.
“Would you go?” she asked him
“Decidedly not!” he returned. I don’t know whether he was angry or
anxious.
“Oh, yes, you would!” said Hortense; and she jumped into the water,
cigarette and all.
“Get a boat, quick,” said John to me; and with his coat flung off he was
in the river, whose current Hortense could scarce have reckoned with;
for they were both already astern as I ran out on the port boat boom.
Gazza was dancing and shrieking, “Man overboard!” which, indeed, was the
correct expression, only it did not apply to himself. Gazza was a very
sensible person. I had, as I dropped into the nearest boat, a brisk
sight of the sailing-master, springing like a jack-in-the-box on the
deserted deck, with a roar of “Where’s that haymaker?” His reference was
to the anchor watch. The temptation to procure good matches to light
his pipe had ended (I learned later) by proving too much for this
responsible sailor-man, and he had unfortunately chosen for going
below just the unexpected moment when it had entered the daring head of
Hortense to perform this extravagance. Of course, before I had pulled
many strokes, the deck of the Hermana was alive with many manifestations
of life-saving and they had most likely been in time. But I am not
perfectly sure of this; the current was strong, and a surprising
distance seemed to broaden between me and the Hermana before another
boat came into sight around her stern. By then, or just after that (for
I cannot clearly remember the details of these few anxious minutes), I
had caught up with John, whose face, and total silence, as he gripped
the stern of the boat with one hand and held Hortense with the other,
plainly betrayed it was high time somebody came. A man can swim
(especially in salt water) with his shoes on, and his clothes add
nothing of embarrassment, if his arms are free; but a woman’s clothes
do not help either his buoyancy or the freedom of his movement. John now
lifted Hortense’s two hands, which took a good hold of the boat. From
between her lips the dishevelled cigarette, bitten through and limp,
fell into the water. The boat felt the weight of the two hands to it.
“Take care,” I warned John.
Hortense opened her eyes and looked at me; she knew that I meant her.
“I’ll not swamp you.” This was her first remark. Her next was when,
after no incautious haste, I had hauled her in over the stern, John
working round to the bow for the sake of balance: “I was not dressed for
swimming.” Very quietly did Hortense speak; very coolly, very evenly; no
fainting--and no flippancy; she was too game for either.
After this, whatever emotions she had felt, or was feeling, she showed
none of them, unless it was by her complete silence. John’s coming into
the boat we managed with sufficient dexterity; aided by the horrified
Charley, who now arrived personally in the other boat, and was for
taking all three of us into that. But this was altogether unnecessary;
he was made to understand that such transferences as it would occasion
were superfluous, and so one of his men stepped into our boat to help me
to row back against the current; and for this I was not unthankful.
Our return took, it appeared to me, a much longer time than everything
else which had happened. When I looked over my shoulder at the Hermana,
she seemed an incredible distance off, and when I looked again, she had
grown so very little nearer that I abandoned this fruitless proceeding.
Charley’s boat had gone ahead to announce the good news to General
Rieppe as soon as possible. But if our return was long to me, to
Hortense it was not so. She sat beside her lover in the stern, and I
knew that he was more to her than ever: it was her spirit also that
wanted him now. Poor Kitty’s words of prophecy had come perversely true:
“Something will happen, and that boy’ll be conspicuous.” Well, it had
happened with a vengeance, and all wrong for Kitty, and all wrong for
me! Then I remembered Charley, last of all. My doubt as to what he would
have done, had he been on deck, was settled later by learning from his
own lips that he did not know how to swim.
Yes, the sentimental world (and by that I mean the immense and mournful
preponderance of fools, and not the few of true sentiment) would soon
be exclaiming: “How romantic! She found her heart! She had a glimpse of
Death’s angel, and in that light saw her life’s true happiness!” But I
should say nothing like that, nor would Miss Josephine St. Michael, if I
read that lady at all right. She didn’t know what I did about Hortense.
She hadn’t overheard Sophistication confessing amorous curiosity about
Innocence; but the old Kings Port lady’s sound instinct would tell her
that a souse in the water wasn’t likely to be enough to wash away the
seasoning of a lifetime; and she would wait, as I should, for the day
when Hortense, having had her taste of John’s innocence, and having
grown used to the souse in the water, would wax restless for the
Replacers, for excitement, for complexity, for the prismatic life. Then
it might interest her to corrupt John; but if she couldn’t, where would
her occupation be, and how were they going to pull through?
But now, there sat Hortense in the stern, melted into whatever best she
was capable of; it had come into her face, her face was to be read--for
the first time since I had known it--and, strangely enough, I couldn’t
read John’s at all. It seemed happy, which was impossible.
“Way enough!” he cried suddenly, and, at his command, the sailor and I
took in our oars. Here was Hermana’s gangway, and crowding faces above,
and ejaculations and tears from Kitty. Yes, Hortense would have liked
that return voyage to last longer. I was first on the gangway, and stood
to wait and give them a hand out; but she lingered, and; rising slowly,
spoke her first word to him, softly:--
“And so I owe you my life.”
“And so I restore it to you complete,” said John, instantly.
None could have heard it but myself--unless the sailor, beyond whose
comprehension it was--and I doubted for a moment if I could have heard
right; but it was for a moment only. Hortense stood stiff, and then,
turning, came in front of him, and I read her face for an instant longer
before the furious hate in it was mastered to meet her father’s embrace,
as I helped her up the gang.
“Daughter mine!” said the General, with a magnificent break in his
voice.
But Hortense was game to the end. She took Kitty’s-hysterics and the
men’s various grades of congratulation; her word to Gazza would have
been supreme, but for his imperishable rejoinder.
“I told you you wouldn’t jump,” was what she said.
Gazza stretched both arms, pointing to John. “But a native! He was surer
to find you!”
At this they all remembered John, whom they thus far hadn’t thought of.
“Where is that lion-hearted boy?” the General called out.
John hadn’t got out of the boat; he thought he ought to change his
clothes, he said; and when Charley, truly astonished, proffered his
entire wardrobe and reminded him of lunch, it was thank you very much,
but if he could be put ashore--I looked for Hortense, to see what she
would do, but Hortense, had gone below with Kitty to change her clothes,
and the genuinely hearty protestations from all the rest brought merely
pleasantly firm politeness from John, as he put on again the coat he
had flung off on jumping. At least he would take a drink, urged Charley.
Yes, thank you, he would; and he chose brandy-and-soda, of which he
poured himself a remarkably stiff one. Charley and I poured ourselves
milder ones, for the sake of company.
“Here’s how,” said Charley to John.
“Yes, here’s how,” I added more emphatically.
John looked at Charley with a somewhat extraordinary smile. “Here’s
unquestionably how!” he exclaimed.
We had a gay lunch; I should have supposed there was plenty of room in
the Hermana’s refrigerator; nor did the absence of Hortense and John,
the cause of our jubilation, at all interfere with the jubilation
itself; by the time the launch was ready to put me ashore, Gazza
had sung several miles of “good music” and double that quantity of
“razzla-dazzla,” and General Rieppe was crying copiously, and assuring
everybody that God was very good to him. But Kitty had told us all that
she intended Hortense to remain quiet in her cabin; and she kept her
word.
Quite suddenly, as the launch was speeding me toward Kings Port, I
exclaimed aloud: “The cake!”
And, I thought, the cake was now settled forever.