The _Britannic_, bound for Liverpool, rose, fell, and plunged on
stubbornly, in a wintry head sea.
Enoch lay in his berth, reading. Every little while her bow buried
itself under a great wave. Some burst upon her fore-deck, with the boom
and vibration of big guns, her bow obliterated under the explosion in a
blinding mass of spray.
Heavy-booted sailors clambered back and forth over the ceiling of the
plain little stateroom, busily lashing some canvas as a windbreak on
the starboard-deck. Below, the woodwork creaked in unison to the lift
and roll of the ship. People who had no longer any interest in life
rang for the stewards or stewardesses, and groaned while they waited.
None of these sounds, however, disturbed Enoch. He was not only
thoroughly comfortable, but supremely happy. It showed in every line
of his face, in the quiet twinkle in his eyes. He read on. Now and
then his smile widened into a broad grin over a page--pages he knew by
heart, and had never yet grown tired of.
“What a wonderful fellow Carroll is,” he declared. “What a subtle
artisan in humor!
“‘They were learning to draw,’ the Dormouse went on, yawning and
rubbing its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy, ‘and they drew all
manner of things--everything that begins with “M”----’
“‘Why with an “M”?’ said Alice,” as Enoch turned the page.
“‘Why not?’ said the March Hare.
“Delicious!” exclaimed Enoch aloud.
Two thousand miles back over that vast desert of wintry sea, the old
house in Waverly Place stood stark and empty. Robbed even of its sign,
“For Sale”--having been sold, and only waiting now for the crow-bars
of a wrecking crew to complete its final ruin and give place to a new
building.
A general exodus of its tenants and their belongings from cellar to
roof had occurred immediately after Joe and Sue’s quiet wedding.
Fortune and Mercury still smiled at the passer-by, but over a filthy
vestibule, dust begrimed, a refuge for stray cats and dentists’
circulars.
Close to the locked area gate stood a battered ash-can, from which
emerged a pair of cast-off shoes, and the skeleton of a broken
umbrella; the whole place seemed dead and forgotten.
Even Moses and Matilda’s black cat now dozed contentedly before a new
kitchen fire in Brooklyn, in a snug frame house Enoch had bestowed upon
these faithful servitors, including an income sufficient for their
declining years.
Since her sister Jane’s death, Miss Ann had been living in Virginia,
in a fine old estate close to Richmond, an inheritance from a cousin.
An old school friend, a Miss Patricia Belford, lived with her now--a
maiden lady of rare humor, a gentle voice, and continuous cheerfulness.
And here it would not be amiss to state that Emma Ford had persuaded
Ebner at last to relinquish his strenuous business career in New
York and return to her plain native town in North Carolina, where he
became a really successful dealer in simple real estate and a popular
superintendent of the Sunday-school and local Lyceum. The firm of
Atwater & Grimsby had moved up-town, away from the redolent lemons
and bananas, and was now newly installed in Twenty-third Street, just
opposite the National Academy of Design, Atwater selecting his bachelor
quarters as far up as Forty-third Street. As for the _Seamaid_, she was
still cruising, her arrival in Havana being cited only the week before
as follows:
Havana--Cuba--Dec. 18th arrived the auxiliary schooner _Seamaid_ with
her owner Mr. J. Lamont and guests--all well.
Enoch read on through Alice’s fascinating, playful wonderland, cradled
by the lift and roll of the good ship.
Now and then a big sea caught her under its dead weight amidships, sent
her staggering up under tons of water, and the swash scurrying down her
scuppers.
The raw, wintry afternoon began to wane. Presently a sailor, whose
duty it was to attend to the stateroom lights, lit Enoch’s from the
corridor, a fat sort of coach-candle, back of a round glass, close
to his berth, its glow screened by a green baize curtain, with a
roller-shade attachment.
Enoch pulled up the curtain and continued in company with the Dormouse,
Alice, and the March Hare, the Hatter joining them on the next page. So
absorbed was he that he almost forgot it was Christmas Eve, or that he
had missed his usual afternoon cup of tea and chat with his old friend,
the captain. Finally he laid aside his book, stretched himself, flung
himself out of his berth briskly, went to his port-hole and peered out
at the mountainous leaden sea.
“A head sea,” he said aloud, as the crest of a wave smashed against the
port-hole. “The skipper was right; he expected it.”
The perfume of a sizzling hot plum pudding from the pantry wafted down
the corridor and over the ventilating space of his stateroom.
“So it’s Christmas Eve,” he said, turning from the dreary outlook to
his wash-basin.
He put on a clean shirt, carefully combed his sparse hair, washed his
face and hands vigorously, and rang for the steward.
“A rough night, Tim,” said Enoch, as the man appeared with a steaming
tin pitcher.
“’Tis cruel bad, sor,” declared the Irishman. “’Twill be worse
before mornin’. If it was the hot water, sor, you be after ringin’
for, sure here it is, sor,” said he, setting down the pitcher safely
in the wash-basin. “I biled it meself. They be busy in the pantry
to-night--seein’ it’s Christmas Eve.”
“Thank you, Tim, for the hot water,” smiled Enoch, “but I’ve washed.
Are you married, Tim?”
“Yis, sor; to as fine a little woman as iver came from the County
Kerry.”
“Any children?”
“Three, sor--two byes and a gurl.”
“I want you to wish them a merry Christmas when you reach port,” said
Enoch. He dove into his pocket, separated two gold sovereigns from some
keys and silver, and forced them into the astonished steward’s hand.
The man’s eyes slowly filled with tears.
“God bless ye, sor,” he said, and paused. “’Tis thim that’ll bless ye,
too. May I be so bold as to ask if ye have any childer, sor? If ye
have, sor, ’tis Christmas Eve, an’ I wish thim a merry wan.”
“Two,” said Enoch. “Both married.”
“They’ll be missin’ ye to-night, sor,” said Tim. “’Tis a long ways to
land.”
The first gong for dinner reverberated down the corridor. As the
steward withdrew and closed the stateroom door, Sue came laughing down
the corridor, followed by Joe.
“Uncle Enoch, may we come in?” she asked, knocking at his door.
“Come in, my children,” cried Enoch heartily, flinging his door wide
open to them both.
“Oh, it’s glorious on deck,” cried Sue, pushing back the soaked hood of
her ulster, her fair hair glistening from the salt spray.
“Great!” cried Joe, filling the doorway. “Ripping old weather--splendid
old sea--smashing right over her,” he declared. “We’ve been watching it
for hours. Hello! there’s the second gong. I’m as hungry as a bear.”
“Do you realize it’s Christmas Eve?” said Enoch, meeting Sue’s eyes.
“Your first Christmas Eve together?”
She looked up at him radiantly, then she flung her arms about his neck,
pressing her fresh, girlish cheek to his, and kissed him.
“A merry Christmas, dear,” she whispered. “I’m going to wish you a
merry Christmas now; I just can’t wait till morning.”
Then the three struggled down the long corridor to dinner.
“I’ve been thinking things over since luncheon,” said Enoch, as they
entered the dining-saloon. “What do you say to our taking in Venice
on our way back, and going straight to Cairo? Venice is as cold as
Christmas in January,” he added gayly, as he turned Sue’s chair for her
and slipped into his own beside her, next to the captain.
THE END
_BOOKS BY F. HOPKINSON SMITH_
FELIX O’DAY
_Illustrated._ _12mo_ $1.35 _net_
“This is an American classic in fiction--persuasive in interest;
intense in its humanity; brilliant and sympathetic in present-day
characterization. It belongs of right to the scanty array of permanent
contributions to American literature.”--_Philadelphia North American._
ENOCH CRANE
A NOVEL PLANNED AND BEGUN BY F. HOPKINSON
SMITH AND COMPLETED BY F. BERKELEY SMITH
_Illustrated by_ ALONZO KIMBALL. _12mo_ $1.35 _net_
The story is of New York; specifically, the scene is Waverly Place, in
one of the characteristic old houses of that section. In this respect
it has much of the flavor of “Peter”--its characters as lovable, its
scenes as colorful.
THE FORTUNES OF OLIVER HORN
_Illustrated._ _12mo_ $1.35 _net_
“It is in the character-drawing that the author has done his best work.
No three finer examples of women can be found than Margaret Grant,
Sallie Horn, Oliver’s mother, and Lavinia Clendenning, the charming old
spinster.”--_Louisville Courier-Journal._
PETER
_Illustrated._ _12mo_ $1.35 _net_
“It is an old-fashioned love story.”--_The Outlook._
“Old Peter Grayson is a charming character, with his old-fashioned
virtues, his warm sympathies, and his readiness to lend a
hand.”--_Springfield Republican._
THE ROMANCE OF AN OLD-FASHIONED GENTLEMAN
_Illustrated._ _12mo_ $1.35 _net_
“A breath of pure and invigorating fragrance out of the fogs and
tempests of the day’s fiction.”--_Chicago Tribune._
COLONEL CARTER’S CHRISTMAS
_Illustrated._ _12mo_ $1.35 _net_
“The dear old colonel claims our smiles and our love as simply and as
whole-heartedly as ever.”--_Life._
THE ARM-CHAIR AT THE INN
_Illustrated._ _12mo_ $1.30 _net_
“It would be hard to find a more entertaining, piquant, and
sweet-spirited companion in book form.”--_Chicago Herald._
KENNEDY SQUARE
_Illustrated._ _12mo_ $1.30 _net_
“All that was best in the banished life of the old South has been
touched into life and love, into humor and pathos, in this fine and
memorable American novel.”--_Chicago Herald._
THE TIDES OF BARNEGAT
_Illustrated._ _12mo_ $1.35 _net_
“The story is one of strong dramatic power. Its style is
direct and incisive, revealing a series of strongly drawn
pictures.”--_Philadelphia Record._
THE WOOD FIRE IN NO. 3
_Illustrated._ _12mo_ $1.35 _net_
“None of Mr. Smith’s writings have shown more delightfully his spirit
of genial kindliness and sympathetic humor.”--_Boston Herald._
FORTY MINUTES LATE and Other Stories
_Illustrated._ _12mo_ $1.35 _net_
“It overflows with friendliness and enjoyment of life, and it furnishes
a capital example of impressionistic writing.”--_The Outlook._
THE VEILED LADY
_Illustrated._ _12mo_ $1.35 _net_
“These little stories are as entertaining as any he has written, and we
can recommend them confidently to his many admirers.”--_New York Sun._
“They are exceedingly agreeable stories with an atmospheric quality
which the versatile author imparts to them.”--_Philadelphia Press._
AT CLOSE RANGE
_Illustrated._ _12mo_ $1.35 _net_
“These simple tales contain more of the real art of character-drawing
than a score of novels of the day.”--_New York Evening Post._
“He has set down with humorous compassion and wit the real life that we
live every day.”--_The Independent._
THE UNDER DOG
_Illustrated._ _12mo_ $1.35 _net_
“Mr. Hopkinson Smith’s genius for sympathy finds full expression in his
stories of human under dogs of one sort and another ... each serves as
a centre for an episode, rapid, vivid, story-telling.”--_The Nation._
“The Thackeray of American fiction.”--_Boston Herald._
THE NOVELS, STORIES, AND SKETCHES OF F. HOPKINSON SMITH
Beacon Edition. In Twenty-three Volumes
“He has always had unquestioning faith in the significance and interest
of the simple, universal human experiences as they come to normal,
brave, affectionate, gentle-mannered, or robust, untrained men and
women.
“As he looks at nature so he looks at man: with clear vision; with
sympathy rather than curiosity; with an eye for the fine things in the
rugged man and the vigorous, sinewy, self-sustaining woman; and for the
natural virtues, the deep tenderness, the true-heartedness in the man
of long descent and the woman of gentle breeding.
“His style is singularly concise, exact, compact; possessed of a
vitality which uses various arts of expression; his style is notable
for concentration, solidity, reality.”--HAMILTON W. MABIE.
_FOR PARTICULARS_
_concerning the Beacon Edition of the works of F. Hopkinson Smith,
sold onto by subscription, send for circular_
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
597-599 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized or underlined text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.