“What will it look like, George?” she asked evenly.
“Like you were chasing me.”
She laughed, and her laughter was like a song-burst of wholesome young
life in the atmosphere of Chanler’s drink-drugged maundering.
“Well, George, isn’t that what I am doing?”
“People will talk, Betty,” he persisted. “It’s a bad situation—for
you. I—I’m sorry I got you to come here—no, hang it! I’m not. But I am
worrying about your reputation, Betty.”
“I think I can take care of my reputation, George,” she said quietly.
“Let me take care of it, Betty!” he cried hoarsely, taking her hand.
“Please, George,” she said, smiling, as she rose.
“Betty!” He clung to her hand.
With swift, confident strength she drew her hand free, lifting him
slightly from his chair in doing so.
“You’ll excuse me now, won’t you?” she said, and went to her room.
Chanler flung himself back in his chair, laughing harshly.
“Did you see that—did you see it, Gardy?” he said, as he pressed the
bell. “She doesn’t care if I do own this yacht. I’m nothing to her.
Oh, what a rotten trip this is going to be!”
“Chanler,” I said, “sit still for a minute and listen. You have got to
pull yourself together. You have got to straighten out this mess. You
have got to show Miss Baldwin that you are the man she is hoping to
find in you. Buck up, man! Her hopes are pinned on you. She cares. Do
you think she would have come this far if she didn’t care? She has
done her share; she’s here. Now, for her sake, do your share. Pull
yourself together and be the man she has been hoping all this time she
would find you.”
“Hooray!” he whispered mockingly. “Go on, Gardy; you’re the boy who
can say things. King’s peg,” he said to the steward who had come in.
“Wait!” I said. The man stopped. “Chanler, you’ve been overdoing it.
You’re not yourself. You’ve done things that aren’t done; you’ve got
to sober up and straighten them out.”
“Got to!”
“Yes; as a gentleman you’ve got to. Miss Baldwin’s happiness—perhaps
her whole life’s happiness—depends on your being a gentleman from now
on. For God’s sake man! Isn’t it worth sobering up to win a prize like
that?”
“Oh, leave me alone, Gardy,” he growled. “Don’t you think I know what
I’m doing? It doesn’t make any difference what I do now. I’ve lost
her. She wouldn’t have me no matter what I did now. I know it. Knew it
five minutes after she came on board. Saw it in her eyes. Felt it. My
hold on her’s slipped—just like that. Gone—forever. No use trying.
King’s peg,” he repeated, “and hurry.”
I sat silent, rage and disgust choking me, while the man brought in
that terrible mixture of champagne and brandy in equal parts. Chanler
drank it in gulps.
“Have some, Gardy? No? That’s right. Some men shouldn’t touch rum;
you’re one of them. ’Cause why? ’Cause you’ve got a conscience. Rot,
rot, rot! Got to straighten up, have I, Gardy? ‘Got to’ are words that
weren’t made for me, my boy.”
“For God’s sake! Chanler, drop that sort of talk!” I cried, springing
to my feet. “If you knew what a sickening parody you are on the
gentleman you were at home, you wouldn’t put on airs.”
“Not to me, Gardy, not to me can you utter such contemptuous words,”
he said harshly.
“You be ——, you and your big talk!” I exploded. “Do you think you’re
entitled to any respect? Do you think I or any one else on board cares
who you are at present? Do you think your money is still a power?
Well, it’s not. It ceased to be this morning. Brack and the crew—Brack
especially—there’s the power aboard this yacht. And you’re disgracing
yourself and your class before them all.
“First you lie by wireless to get Miss Baldwin on board, and now
you’re taking the easiest way, keeping drunk, because you’re not man
enough to face the situation sober—not man enough to make things right
for the girl who came here trustfully depending on you. Think of it,
Chanler; think who you are—of your family. Have one more try at
decency, at least. Chuck away that poison in your hand and let me call
Dr. Olson and get you straightened up.”
He raised the large glass to his lips and drank the peg down without a
falter.
“Gardy,” he said, setting the glass down, “you’re fired.”