CAPTAIN STEVENS AGAIN.
The mahogany-trimmed saloon greeted us cheerfully with its immaculate
linen and polished silver, and I contrasted the environment with the
last place in which I had partaken of food, the forecastle. And I then
and there resolved to play every card I had or could gather to stay
“aft.”
My appetite was whetted, even during the short time since the homely
meal old Steve had provided; and, indeed, we all tackled the splendid
food with zest.
There were four of us; Stroth, his daughter, Stevens, and myself.
Stevens had been the last to enter, which he did from his own stateroom,
situated still farther aft.
“You, Mr. Grey, and Captain Stevens have met before, I believe,” said
Stroth, without a quiver, and the little man and I each took the hint,
and shook hands cordially enough, though I did feel kind of funny when I
did so. But I was more surprised when Stroth followed this up with:
“And now you see Captain Stevens, Stella,” whereupon the captain bowed
in most courtly manner, while I wondered considerably.
“We scarcely had time back there on the launch to get acquainted, did
we, captain?” she said lightly.
Stevens shot me a quick glance, as he replied:
“But I hope the acquaintance will have a better chance for a time now,
Miss Stella.”
So the girl hadn’t seen him before I had myself!
Stroth’s manner was carefree and easy, and he acted the most genial
host. I could feel that the manner in which I had so humbly submitted to
the revelations of the past few minutes had relieved his mind of all
uneasiness. He knew I had taken my cue.
The Jap, Saki, was deftness itself in his service, and the start of this
little trip to Savannah was certainly auspicious, for at sea the
gastronomies are certainly important.
When the meal was over, and, at Stella Stroth’s suggestion, we all went
up on deck where we found that the wind had lessened somewhat. The
afternoon bade fair to be one of perfect midsummer.
And so, two by two, we paced a constitutional up and down the windward
quarter-deck. Stroth and his daughter walked together while Stevens and
I followed, keeping our conversation absolutely on generalities.
Suddenly the girl whirled and faced us.
“I was just suggesting to father,” she said, “that nothing could be
finer than such a day as this for taking pictures.”
Of a surety the idea was as harmless a one as I could possibly imagine.
It certainly was an ideal light to work in for clear-cut, sharp-shadowed
snapshots. But the very hint of such a thing had a noteworthy effect
upon both men.
Stroth’s face first lit up to a trace of enthusiasm, but this spark was
rapidly quenched by a troubled look of almost doglike humbleness when he
met the hasty glance Stevens cast him.
And I could plainly see that Stevens himself was distinctly worried as
he strove to shunt the idea.
“Mr. Stroth has often told me that vivid sunlight such as this is makes
too great contrasts.”
“Oh, nonsense, daddy!” cried the daughter. “Of course, if one wanted
absolutely artistic effects, maybe so; but what I’d want would be just
some ‘homy’ pictures of the decks, the sails, the things about us. Ah, I
love it all so! You don’t know, dad, how I’ve missed the old _Ruby
Light_! Come now, just a half dozen.”
She whirled on me.
“You’re with me, aren’t you, Mr. Grey?”
With her? Well, rather! Nor could I see the slightest harm in my saying
so.
“Why, I think it would be fine!” I exclaimed enthusiastically.
One can imagine my bewilderment at the result that immediately followed
my concurrence.
Stroth’s features took on what was almost a defiance, and a defiance
that was directed at Stevens; while the little captain favored me with a
scowl that carried actual anger. And, just like a schoolboy that has
been permitted to break some bounds, Stroth trotted happily down the
companionway in search of one of his cameras.
The next half hour he spent in the full delight of his hobby, and he
certainly had the knack of poising his subject; he knew composition--had
it all at his finger tips.
But from the first of the picturetaking, Stevens had excused himself on
the strength of working his reckoning, and I didn’t see him till supper
time.
We three, however, got along famously, and, when supper did come, we
fell to like so many children in a heartiness which even Stevens’ sour
looks couldn’t check.
Supper done, the table was cleared, and we played fan-tan till four
bells.
“Early hours aboard this packet!” cried Stroth boyishly. “And ten
o’clock’s a good bedtime. Off and away with you now, girlie.”
She kissed him on the cheek, and bade us each a happy good night. I
still believe mine was the best. There was a certain hesitancy about it
that I relished immensely.
Stroth turned to me as soon as she had left us.
“Saki will show you your stateroom, Grey. I’ve even managed to drum up a
change or two of clothes, which may be a bit overlarge for you, but----”
“But, under circumstances which brought me aboard your----”
I certainly had taken a wrong tack, for he cried out sharply:
“A pleasure trip to Savannah, remember!”
“I beg pardon!” I hastened to say, as I followed the Jap who had popped
into sight at the sound of a buzzer.
But before I gained the stateroom assigned me, and had closed the door,
I heard Stroth ask Stevens:
“How’s the wind blowing?”
“There’s a point or two more no’th’ard to it, but it holds about the
same strength, and, of course, it’s fair.”
“Fine!” ejaculated the owner. “So we ought to be about off Montauk
to-morrow morning, oughtn’t we?”
“About that,” replied the skipper. Then he lowered his tone just as I
was closing my door in dismissal of the Jap. I couldn’t catch a word,
but the voice carried solicitude of some sort.
Then came Stroth’s reply; rather a petulant one, I thought:
“Yes, yes, Stevens; I promise. Yes, yes, of course!”
There was certainly a difference in my quarters of this night and the
one previous; for that little stateroom, though plain enough, was the
essence of convenience, and the berth was comfort itself.
But, tired as I was, I couldn’t get to sleep right away. Things had been
happening a trifle too fast, and one or two points were puzzling. I sat
on a transom fully an hour. Then I crawled into the suit of pajamas that
had been laid out for me, propped up the pillows at the bunk end, and
ruminated.
“I know what I want,” I finally mumbled to myself, “and that’s a smoke.”
It seemed as if I must have that smoke. I have since cured myself of the
habit, but it held me strong enough then, as is evident when I add that
I finally decided to have a try at finding the humidor which Stroth had
handed me in his picture-papered stateroom.
“It’s worth a try, anyway,” said I to myself. “He wouldn’t mind, of
course. And I can manage it without disturbing a soul.”
I opened my door cautiously, and crossed the saloon, which was dimly
lighted by a night lamp of small candle power. Fortune favored me in
that the farther door was slightly ajar. I opened it a bit farther, then
craned my neck for a view.
“There it is,” said I mentally, as I recognized the dim outline of the
box of cigars, and noiselessly I opened it and took one.
I had almost regained the saloon when I heard a faint noise and the
click of glassware. I turned attentively, and under the lower crack of
the farther door there filtered out to me the deep-red glow of the dark
room.
But, for all the trouble I had taken to get the cigar, I didn’t finish
it. By the time it was half smoked I got very sleepy, and the next thing
I knew--as Uncle Remus says--“I didn’t know nuffin.”