Enclosed with sail-cloth for almost its entire length, brilliantly
illuminated by hundreds of electric bulbs skilfully clustered in the
folds of the artistically draped bunting, with its crowds of dancers,
the women with their beautiful gowns, white shoulders and flashing
jewels, the ship's officers in full uniform, the men passengers in dress
coats--the promenade-deck presented an animated scene of gaiety, light,
and color, rendered all the more striking by the sharp contrast with the
inky darkness beyond the steamer's rail. The steward's orchestra,
screened behind a bank of decorative plants in a railed-off space at the
far end of the deck, was playing a dreamy Waldteufel waltz, and the gay,
laughing couples, their faces slightly flushed from champagne, whirling
gracefully to the strains of the languorous music, made up a picture
that appealed sensuously to ear and eye.
Grace was dancing with Count von Hatzfeld. In a decollete, clinging gown
of rose-colored chiffon, cut to set off to full advantage her
snow-white shoulders and perfect figure, never had she looked so
radiant. Around her slender throat was a string of priceless pearls, a
gift from her father, and her hair, dark and lustrous, was arranged in a
Grecian Psyche knot with gold bands. She held undisputed sway as belle
of the ball, and covetous feminine eyes, ardent masculine eyes, followed
her and her lucky partner as they waltzed up and down the deck. Both
tall and graceful, they made a striking couple.
The count held her pressed closely to him as they turned slowly to the
measured time of the voluptuous music. Her eyes were closed and her head
drooped slightly on his shoulder. To him it seemed like a taste of
heaven to hold this beautiful creature in such close embrace, and as he
inhaled the subtle aroma that emanated from her skin and hair, like some
exquisite, unfamiliar perfume, intoxicating in its effect, he wondered
how he could have been such an ass to waste so many precious hours on
Mrs. Phelps.
But Grace was not thinking of the count. He was not the type of man to
interest her. She enjoyed dancing for itself, and she abandoned herself
to it without a thought of the man who might happen to be her partner.
She loved the graceful, rhythmical movement of the waltz, the rapid
whirling round and round which made her heart beat tumultuously, the
languorous music which intoxicated. She loved the luxury of costly
costumes, the odor of beautiful flowers, the sparkle of diamonds and the
careless gaiety and unconsequential chatter of the people of her own
set. In short, hers was purely a sensual enjoyment--not materially
different to that she aroused in the men--but she did not realize it.
"_Ach_, this is divine!" whispered the count. "May I have the next
waltz?"
At that moment a couple brushed past them.
"There's Mrs. Phelps with Mr. Fitzhugh," said Grace mischievously. "She
would scratch my eyes out if she caught me dancing with you again so
soon."
"I care not," replied the German recklessly and ardently. "When I see
your eyes, the world is dead to me."
A compliment of this kind would have pleased most women, but Grace was
accustomed to them. They rather irritated her.
"I'm tired now," she said languidly. "Please take me to my seat."
They joined Mrs. Stuart, who, comfortably ensconced in a corner, was
flirting desperately with Mr. Brown, the second officer, a tall,
handsome man, smart-looking in his full-dress uniform and white gloves.
The count murmured his thanks, bowed, and retired.
"I'm so thirsty!" gasped Grace, sinking into a chair. "I wish I had an
ice."
"Allow me to get you one," said Mr. Brown.
Before she could protest, the second officer had disappeared in the
direction of the saloon, where an elaborate supper was laid out.
Mrs. Stuart turned to her protegee:
"Grace, you've made a tremendous hit to-night. Your pearls look
magnificent. All the women are raving about them."
"They ought to be," replied Grace indifferently. "They cost enough."
"Forty thousand, didn't you say?"
"I think that's what dad paid."
"Lucky girl! They might be glass for all you seem to care."
Grace made a gesture of impatience as she answered:
"What good are they? Merely pretty gewgaws. Their value means nothing to
me. I'm sick of hearing what things cost. They won't bring me what I
want most."
"What's that--a husband?" smiled Mrs. Stuart.
"Yes," replied Grace petulantly. "A husband--a man I could respect
enough to want to marry. I lose patience with all these animated monkeys
that dangle after me. I want a real man."
"Not very kind to the count after he's been so attentive to you all the
evening," replied Mrs. Stuart, elevating her eyebrows. "No wonder you're
tired, after dancing every single dance. I should be dead in your place.
It's all very well to be the belle of the ball, but it's wearing on the
nerves. I'm satisfied to play wallflower and talk to the second officer.
You've no idea how perfectly fascinating he is. His gold braid and
buttons are too cute for anything! What was the count breathing down
your neck?"
"Oh, a lot of foolishness!" laughed Grace.
"Take care," exclaimed Mrs. Stuart, holding up a warning finger. "I saw
Mrs. Phelps glaring at you several times. Besides, Germans make
impossible husbands. The common German is gross, the educated German is
conceited. Both are insufferable. You'd be miserable."
"Don't be alarmed, dear," smiled Grace. "I think no more of the count
than I do of those musicians, not so much. Their music charms and he
bores."
Mr. Brown reappeared, followed by a steward carrying a tray on which
were ices and _petits fours_.
"Oh, how perfectly sweet of you!" exclaimed Mrs. Stuart. "I was dying
for an ice--the heat is positively dreadful."
"It's getting warmer every minute," panted Grace. "I can hardly breathe.
I think we're going to have a storm, don't you, Mr. Brown?"
"Oh--I don't know," replied the officer hesitatingly. "It's always hot
in these latitudes, you know. This is nothing to what you'll get in
Bombay."
"Yes, I know," said Grace, nibbling daintily at the delicious frozen
delicacy, "but there's something weird in the unnatural stillness of the
air. I don't like to see the water so calm."
The second officer shifted uneasily about on his feet. He knew well that
there was every indication of a storm. The barometer had been falling
steadily for hours. The latest reading marked ten-twenty-nine, which was
the lowest he had ever seen it. The captain, too, was uneasy. In fact,
they were only waiting for the dance to break up to hurry and get
everything shipshape for the blow which they knew was inevitable.
Meantime, he argued to himself, there was no use in alarming the ladies
or spoiling their fun. He was about to put off further questioning by
some reassuring remark, when just then a quartermaster ran up, and,
touching his cap, said:
"Cap'n wishes to see you on the bridge, sir."
"Very well, I'll come at once."
Turning to the ladies, Mr. Brown excused himself, and, with a salute,
went away, followed by the sailor.
The gaiety was now at its height. It was impossible to move about the
deck, so crowded was it with dancers and promenaders. Suddenly the
concealed orchestra struck up the dulcet strains of Strauss' _Blue
Danube_, and once more the couples began gliding and turning on the
spotless deck, the women's gowns making a beautiful and ever-changing
kaleidoscope of color and motion. Everybody was in high spirits. The
women were flirting and drinking champagne. The men were laughing and
having what the Hon. Percy Fitzhugh declared a ripper of a good time. It
was a festival of fortune's favorites, a merrymaking of those lucky few
who have nothing to do but enjoy life's pleasures.
* * * * *
Up on top of the deckhouse, hidden among the ventilators and
smokestacks, two men gloomily watched the gay scene below. They were
grimy with coal-dust and they wore greasy clothes, with tattered coats
buttoned close to their necks. Hot as was the night, it felt cool to
them, accustomed as they were to the withering heat of the furnaces
below. One was Armitage; the other was Bill. The two stokers had crawled
out of the inferno to steal a breath of fresh air. The scene before them
seemed like a vision of fairyland.
"Gee whiz!" exclaimed Bill, when he had somewhat recovered from his
astonishment. "It's like at the theayter. Get on to 'em lights and the
flags, will ye, and the bloomin' musicians! Look at 'em women folk
dancin' all decked out in their sparklers, and 'em blokes wid their
open-faced clothes! Officers, too, has on their Sunday duds. And, by
gosh! If they ain't drinkin' fizz! Say, ain't it great to be rich!"
"Let them dance!" growled Armitage savagely, as he sullenly watched the
merry crowd. "They'd dance to another tune if the boilers were suddenly
to burst, or if the ship ran foul of a rock." Fiercely, he added: "D--n
'em! I'd like to see them down on their blessed knees, weeping and
praying!"
To him these men and women, enjoying themselves in fine clothes, with
plenty of money, without a care, represented the enemy. They belonged
to the class that had wronged him, the world that had been trampling on
him all these years. They were those who laughed when he suffered, who
threw him a bone as one does to a dog. How he hated them! He ground his
teeth at the consciousness of his own impotence to do them injury.
"That's all right!" grinned Bill. "But anythin' as happens to 'em would
catch us, too. I ain't ready for Davy Jones' locker yet."
Still watching the brilliant crowd below, as if fascinated, Armitage
replied with an oath:
"I'm ready for anything. I'd just as soon go to the bottom as not. What
do you fellows get out of life, anyhow? Nothing but hard work, kicks,
and curses--scarcely enough to eat, while those swells have more than
they know what to do with. And they never earned a cent of it."
Savagely, he went on: "It's dead wrong, I tell you. Why should one come
into the world poor and the other rich? Do you wonder I hate them?"
On the deck beneath, Grace rose from her chair and took Count von
Hatzfeld's proffered arm. The count had been most persistent in asking
for another dance, and to get rid of his importunities, she had
consented. Slowly they began to turn to the charming strains of the
_Fledermaus_ waltz, their tall, graceful figures making them conspicuous
among all the other dancers.
"Say!" exclaimed Bill. "Does ye see that tall gal dancin' wid the guy
wid the Dutch whiskers? Ain't she a stunner?"
Armitage's eyes followed those of his mate until they alighted on Grace,
when they were immediately arrested. For a few minutes he said nothing,
watching in silence the proud beauty who was the cynosure of every eye
on deck. With growing interest he took mental note of her dark, flashing
eyes, her slender neck and snow-white shoulders, her splendid figure,
beautiful hair, and graceful carriage.
"She's pretty, all right!" he muttered, at last. "Look at those pearls
round her neck. They're worth a fortune. Isn't she one of those women
who came down to the stoke-hold the other day?"
Before Bill could reply there was a flash of lightning, followed by a
sharp clap of thunder. The sail-cloths began to flap ominously. On
their grimy faces the two stokers felt drops of rain.
"We're in for it!" cried Bill. "Did ye see 'em storm-clouds?"
There was another glare, more vivid than the first, followed almost
immediately by a report that left no doubt of the violence of the storm
which was fast approaching. The flash revealed a mass of low-lying
clouds, swollen with moisture to the bursting point, around which danced
lurid green flames. The wind was rising rapidly with a sinister moan.
The sea, while still smooth, was seething and covered with foam like
water boiling.
"It's goin' to be a corker!" shouted Bill. "Let's get in before it
breaks."
Without waiting to see if Armitage was following him, he ran back to the
ventilator up which both men had climbed, and disappeared.