On the morning of the fourth day out, Chester Lawrence stood watching
the antics of a young man, who, coatless and hatless, and made brave by
too many visits to the bar, was running up the rope ladders of the mast
to a dangerous height. He climbed up to where the ladder met the one on
the other side, down which he scrambled with the agility of a monkey.
The ladies in the group on deck gasped in fright at his reckless daring.
The fellow jumped to the deck from the rail, and made a sweeping bow to
the spectators:
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "'tis nothing at all, I assure you. On
shore I am a circus performer, an' I was just practicing a little. Have
no fear. See--"
He was about to make a second exhibition when a ship's officer seized
him, threatening to lock him up if he did not desist.
"O, certainly, if its against the rules," he replied meekly. His hat and
coat were lying on a chair by some ladies. He put these on again, and
then sat down and began talking to the one nearest him. Chester, who had
followed the fellow's capers with some interest, gave a start when he
saw that the lady with whom the man was trying to carry on a
conversation was the minister's daughter. She was visibly annoyed, and
looked about as if for help. Chester thought her eyes fell on him, and
without hesitation he determined to assist her. He went up to them, and
without appearing to see the girl, reached out his hand to the man,
saying:
"Halloo Jack! Didn't know you were on board till I saw your capers just
now. I want to talk to you a moment. Come along and have a drink first."
The fellow stared at Chester and was about to deny any acquaintanceship
with him, when the insistent manner of the greeting changed his mind. He
excused himself to the lady, arose and followed. Chester took his arm as
they walked along.
"Which is your state-room?" asked Chester.
"It's 340; but what you want to know for? Aren't we going to have a
drink?"
"Not just now, my man. You're going to your room, and to bed. You got up
too early. Listen,"--as the sobering man began to resent the
interference,--"there's an officer looking at us. He will do nothing if
you will go along quietly with me, but if you make a scene I'll hand you
over to him."
They found the man's room and he willingly went in and lay down. "Now,"
said Chester to him, "remain below until you're sober. And don't bother
that young lady again--do you hear. _Don't you do it_."
Chester went on deck again, somewhat in wonder at his own conduct. He
was not in the habit of interfering in other people's business, and
never mixed with drunken affairs. But this surely was different. No man
would have refused _that_ appeal for help. Yes; he was sure she had
pleaded with her eyes. Perhaps he ought to go back and receive her
thanks, but he resisted that impulse. He walked to the extreme rear of
the boat and stood looking at the broad white path which the ship was
making in the green sea. He stood gazing for some time, then turned, and
there sitting on a coil of rope was the girl who had been in his mind.
She saw his confusion and smiled at it.
"I--I came to thank you," she said; "but I did not like to disturb your
meditations, so I sat down to rest."
"The sea has used you up quite badly, hasn't it?"
"O no; I was dreadfully ill before I came aboard. This trip is to make
me well, so papa says."
"I hope so." There was a pause, during which Chester found a seat on a
bit of ship furniture. This girl's voice was like an echo from far-away
Utah and Piney Ridge Cottage. And there was something about the shapely
head now framed in wind-blown hair and the face itself that reminded him
of someone else. Just how the resemblance came in he could not tell, but
there it was. Perhaps, after all, it was just the look in her eyes and
the spirit that accompanied her actions and words that moved him.
"Is that man a friend of yours?" she asked.
"You mean that drunken fool? No; I've never met him before."
"That was just a ruse then--that invitation to drink."
"I had to do something, and that came first to me."
"Then you didn't go and drink with him?"
"Why no, of course not. I took him to his berth, and told him to stay
there."
"Do you think he will?"
"Yes; until he sobers up."
"Well, I don't like drunken men."
"Neither do I."
"We're agreed on one thing then, aren't we?"
Chester laughed with her. Elder Malby was pacing the deck, awaiting the
call for breakfast; but Chester did not join him.
"The man bothered me yesterday," she said, "and again last night. He
wished to get acquainted, he claimed."
"You don't know him, then?"
"I've never seen him before. Papa has had to remain very quiet, and I
haven't been around much. That fellow made me afraid."
"Well, he'll not bother you again. If he does, let me know."
"Thank you very much--"
The call for breakfast came to them faintly, then grew louder as the
beaten gong came up from below to the deck.
"I must get papa and take him to breakfast. Let me thank you again, and
good morning."
He might have accompanied her down, but he just stood there watching
her. Elder Malby came up, and the two went down together.
The minister and his daughter got into their places more actively that
morning. Chester wished heartily that his seat was not opposite. She was
at too close range to allow of any careful observation. He could not
very well help looking across the table, neither could she, although she
had her father to talk to. Chester was really glad when breakfast was
over that morning, and they all filed up to the sun-lit deck again.
Had Chester been a smoker, he would no doubt have taken consolation in a
pipe with the majority of the men; but as it was, he withdrew as much as
possible from others that he might think matters over and get to a
proper footing; for truth to tell, he was in danger of falling in love
again, and that, he said to himself, would never do. He avoided even
Elder Malby that morning; but to do so he had to go down to the main
deck forward out to the prow. He went to the extreme point, where from
behind the closed railing he could stand as a look-out into the eastern
sea. Gently and slowly the vessel rose and fell as it plowed through the
long, gleaming undulations.
"What am I coming to," said Chester half-aloud as if the sea might hear
and answer him. "Here I am running away from one heart entanglement only
to go plump into another. She is not Julia, of course, but she has
Julia's twin soul. A perfect stranger, an acquaintance of two days! The
daughter of a minister, a minister of the world!" What was he thinking
of? Who were they? He did not even know her name. She was not a well
girl, that he could see. The roses in her cheeks were not altogether
natural and her face was pale; but those red lips, and that smile when
turned to him! Well, the voyage was half over. Another four or five days
and they would be in Liverpool, where they would go their different ways
forever. He must keep away from her that long, seeing there was danger.
No more playing with the fire that burns so deep. And all this which he
seemed to feel and fear, might be undreamed of by her and very likely
was. A girl like that would not take seriously a "steamer friendship."
She was only doing what all young people do on such trips, making
pleasant acquaintances with whom to pass away the monotonous days.
"Sure, sure," said he, as if to clinch the argument, but nevertheless,
deep within his soul there was an undercurrent of protest against such
final conclusions.
Chester tried to seek refuge in Elder Malby, but as he was not to be
found, he opened up a conversation with the missionary for Scandinavia.
The missionary was but a boy, it seemed to Chester. The going from home
and the sea-sickness had had their effects, and the young fellow was
glad to have some one to talk to. He came from Arizona, he told Chester;
had lived on a ranch all his life; had never been twenty miles away from
home before,--and now all this at once! It was "tough."
"But I'm feeling fine now," he said. "Do you know, I've had a peculiar
experience. All the way across the United States from home, something
seemed to say to me, 'You can't stand this. You'll go crazy. You'd
better go back home.' Of course, I was terribly homesick, and I guess
that was the trouble. The cowardly part of me was trying to scare the
better part. But all the time I seemed to hear 'You'll go crazy' until
once or twice I thought I would.
"Well, it was the same in New York, and the same when we came aboard. I
didn't care much one way or other while sea-sick, but when I got over
it, there was the same taunting voice. At last I got downright angry and
said, 'All right, I'm going right on and fill my mission, _and go
crazy!_' From that moment I have ceased to be bothered, and am now
feeling fine."
"Good for you," said Chester. "You'll win out. I wish I was sure about
myself." He went no further in explanation, however.
Ship board etiquette does not require formal introductions before
extended conversations may be carried on. The New England school ma'am
and the German professor were in a deep discussion ten minutes after
they had met for the first time. Many on the ship were going especially
"to do Europe," so there were themes for conversation in common.
As it happened, Chester was alone again that afternoon and he met the
minister and his daughter on the promenade deck. They were taking their
exercise moderately, pausing frequently to look at any trifling
diversion. Chester tipped his cap at them as they passed. At the next
meeting in the walk, the minister stopped and greeted the young man.
"I wish to thank you for your act of kindness to my daughter," he said.
"She has told me about it."
"It was nothing, I assure you, sir," replied Chester. "I don't think the
fellow will annoy her again."
"I hope not. On these ocean voyages one is thrown so closely into all
kinds of company. We, of course, must suppose all our fellow-passengers
are respectable people, until we find out otherwise--but let us sit
down. Where are our chairs, Lucy?"
"They're on the other side, I believe, where we left them this morning."
"It's a little too windy there."
"I'll bring them around to you," said Chester. Lucy followed him,
pointing out which of the chairs belonged to them.
"May I not carry one?" she asked.
"You do not appear strong enough to lift one."
Chester carried the two chairs around to the side of the sheltered deck,
then found a vacant chair for himself which he placed with the other
two.
"Thank you very much," said the minister, as they seated themselves.
"The day is really fine, isn't it? After the sea-sickness, there is
something glorious in a pleasant sea voyage. This is my third time
across, but I don't remember just such a fine day as this. Are you a
good sailor?" this to Chester.
"I've not missed a meal yet, if that's any indication."
"I envy you. I have often wished I could be on deck in a bit of real
bad weather. We had a little blow the other day, I understand, when that
poor fellow lost his life."
"Yes; I saw the accident," replied Chester; whereupon he had to relate
the details to them.
"Well, such is life--and death," was the minister's only comment on the
story.
The minister did most of the talking. Perhaps that was because he was
used to it, having, as he told Chester, been a preacher for twenty-five
years. The daughter commented briefly now and then, prompting his memory
where it seemed to be weak. Chester listened with great interest to the
man's account of former trips to Europe and his description of famous
places. The speaker's voice was pleasant and well-modulated. His
clean-cut face lighted up under the inspiration of some vivid
description. Chester found himself drawn to the man nearly as much as he
had been to the daughter.
"You're an American," announced the minister, turning to Chester.
"Yes."
"A western American, too."
"Right again; how can you tell?"
"Easily enough. How far west?"
"My home is in Chicago."
"Well, Lucy and I can beat you. We came from Kansas City. Ever been
there?"
"I've passed through twice."
"Through the Union Depot only?" asked Lucy.
"You must have received a very unpleasant impression of our city."
"Well, happily I did get away from that depot. I took a ride on the cars
out to Independence, and I saw a good part of the city besides. It's
beautiful out towards Swope Park--"
"There's where we live," exclaimed the girl. "I think the park's just
grand. I live in it nearly all summer."
At this point of the conversation, a party to windward, among whom were
the two Catholic Fathers, lighted their pipes, and the smoke streamed
like from so many chimneys into the faces of those sitting near. The
minister looked sharply towards the puffing men, while Lucy tried to
push the denser clouds away with her hands; but no notice was taken of
such gentle remonstrances.
"I'll speak to them," suggested Chester.
"No; don't. It would only offend them," said the minister. "They think
they are strictly within their rights, and it does not dawn on their
nicotine poisoned wits that they are taking away other peoples'
rights,--that of breathing the uncontaminated air. We'll just move our
chairs a bit," which they did.
"You don't smoke, I take it," continued the clergyman, addressing
Chester.
"No; I quit two years ago."
"Good for you. It's a vile habit, and I sometimes think the worst effect
smoking has on people is that it dulls the nice gentlemanlyness of a
man's character. Now, those men over there, even the Catholic Fathers,
are, no doubt gentlemen in all respects but one; it's a pity that the
tobacco habit should make the one exception."
Chester agreed in words, Lucy in looks.
"You say you have passed through Kansas City," continued the father.
"How far west have you been?"
"To the Pacific Coast."
"Lucy and I should have made this trip westward, but the doctor said we
must not cross the mountains, because of her heart. So an ocean voyage
was advised."
"And I did want so much to see the Rockies," added the young woman. "I
have always had a longing to see our own mountains as well as those of
Switzerland. Next summer we'll take that western trip."
"I hope so, daughter."
"I assure you they are worth seeing," said Chester.
"No doubt about it. Lucy and I have planned it all for some day. Were
you ever in Utah?"
"I lived for some time in Salt Lake City. Be sure to see that town on
your trip."
The minister looked somewhat queerly at Chester for a moment. Then his
gaze swept out to the water again as if a momentary disturbing thought
was gotten rid of. Lucy was interested.
"Tell us about Salt Lake City, and, and the Mormons,'" pleaded she.
"Never mind the 'Mormons,' Lucy," admonished her father.
"It's difficult to speak of Utah and Salt Lake without mentioning the
'Mormons,'" added Chester.
"Then let's talk of something else, something more pleasant."
Evidently this minister was like all others, Chester concluded; sane and
intelligent on all subjects but one,--the "Mormons." Well, he would set
himself right before these two people, and do it now.
"I can say," said Chester, "that my experience among the 'Mormon' people
has been among the most pleasant of my life. In fact, I don't know where
I can go to find a more honest, God-fearing, virtuous people. I--"
"Young man," interrupted the clergyman, looking keenly at him, "are you
a 'Mormon'?"
"Yes, sir; I have that honor."
Lucy gave a cry, whether of alarm or gladness, the young man could not
then tell. The minister arose slowly. "Lucy," he said, "let us walk a
little more," and without another word the two resumed their promenade.
But in Lucy's face there appeared concern. The tears, glittering in her
eyes did not altogether hide the reassuring glance which she turned
about to give Chester as he sat alone by the vacated chairs.