FIRE!
“Miss Pepper,” Mrs. Livingston Bayley called sweetly but insistently as
Phronsie hurried by.
“I cannot stop now,” said Phronsie.
Mrs. Bayley reserved her anger, and picked up her novel, until her
husband sauntered up. Then she turned on him furiously from her
steamer-chair.
“Livingston,” she said, forgetting to drawl, “it is perfectly
preposterous in Phronsie Pepper to go on so. I don’t see what Mr. King
is thinking of to allow it.”
“Oh, I don’t have anything to do with Phronsie Pepper,” declared
Mr. Bayley, in a very bad temper, and sitting down, after carefully
adjusting the creases along his trousers legs, “don’t you know; so what
is the use of pitching into a fellow, Celestine.”
“In all our conversation, I have observed you are always very cross if
I allude to the Peppers in any way. It is extremely uncomfortable for
me, Livingston, to have you assume such an attitude toward me.”
[Illustration: “Now, Celestine,” said Mr. Bayley, rolling a fresh
cigarette, “the Peppers are perfectly well able to take care of
themselves.”]
Mr. Bayley said something way down in his throat, and got out of his
steamer-chair for a turn or two on deck.
“Now, Celestine,” he said, coming back and rolling a fresh cigarette as
he stood over her, “I want you to understand, once for all, that I’m
not going to be drawn into collision with the Peppers, don’t you know.
They are perfectly well able to take care of themselves; and I wouldn’t
advise you to try it on, either.”
“She has no mother with her, or”--
“And you’ll be a mother to her. Celestine, that’s too good, don’t you
know. Ha, ha, ha!”
“Your mirth is always as ill-timed as your other attempts at ideas,”
remarked his wife angrily. “I repeat, Phronsie Pepper has no mother
with her to advise her.”
“But she has old Mr. King; and he’s just the very--well, if you want to
tackle him, go ahead.”
“I certainly shall speak to her,” said Mrs. Bayley with dignity.
“And when the old man gets through with you, perhaps you’d like to try
your hand on her brother, Joel Pepper. But I don’t believe you will,
Celestine, I give you my word for it.”
He tossed that cigarette overboard, it not having been rolled to suit
him, and began on another.
“To think of that girl, with her beauty and advantages, taking up with
a miserable old dowdy of a woman whom nobody knows a thing about, and
spending all her time on her.”
“When she might be with you,” cut in Mr. Bayley, getting into his
steamer-chair again, and leaning his elbows on his knees to assist him
through his arduous labor.
“When she might be with me,” repeated Celestine calmly; “think what I
could be to that girl,” she added complacently, and playing with her
rings.
“She isn’t awake to those immense advantages,” observed her husband;
“that is, don’t appear to be.”
“Well, I’ll make her, then,” declared Mrs. Bayley, setting her teeth
hard together.
Mr. Bayley laughed softly to himself.
“Hush! here she comes,” said Mrs. Bayley under her breath. “O Miss
Phronsie!” she smiled sweetly on her.
“Did you want to see me?” asked Phronsie. “I beg your pardon for not
stopping.”
Mr. Bayley got out of his steamer-chair, and pressed it upon her
elaborately. “Do sit down, Miss Phronsie,” begged his wife cordially.
“Thank you,” said Phronsie, “but I cannot, Mrs. Bayley.”
“You never give me any of your time,” said that lady, calling to her
aid a reproachful look, an expression that had always brought down
other victims, “and you know I have some claim upon you, as my husband
is an old friend of your family.” She hadn’t meant to say this when she
began, but for some unaccountable reason her supply of words seemed to
give out.
As this required no answer, Phronsie did not give any, but remained
silent, standing by the steamer-chair.
“You have sufficient time for _new_ friends,” said the lady with
emphasis; “I have seen you with an old woman on the deck several times
the last two days.”
“She needs me,” said Phronsie quietly; “she is all alone.”
“Well, that is just it,” exclaimed Mrs. Bayley eagerly, welcoming her
chance; and throwing back her head, she said rapidly, “do you know I
don’t think it is wise to take up with that old thing. Nobody knows who
she is, and it’s an awful bore for you--wastes your time and all that.
Now, let me give you a piece of advice, Miss Phronsie.”
“Thank you,” said Phronsie; “but my Grandpapa is here, you know, and my
brother,” she did not finish, “to whom I can apply for advice.”
Mrs. Bayley colored angrily. “But they are men, and they don’t think.
Now, there are some very desirable people on board here, and Mr.
Bayley and I could put you in the way of making some of the best of
friends--the very best.”
Mr. Bayley made a sudden movement, and said something to his wife of
which “don’t you know” was all that came to the surface.
“And at any rate,” hurried on Mrs. Bayley, as she saw Phronsie’s face,
“you might amuse me. I am awfully _desolée_, Miss Pepper, and don’t
know what to do with myself.”
Phronsie instinctively glanced at Mr. Bayley.
“Oh, he is no good!” exclaimed his wife petulantly; “all he thinks
of is his cigarettes, and how soon he will be ashore to get to the
horse-races.”
“Thank you,” said Livingston Bayley with a bow, “much obliged, I’m
sure. Miss Pepper, don’t look shocked; it’s all right, don’t you know,
I’m quite used to it, only I didn’t think she’d ring up the curtain for
your benefit.” And as Phronsie made her excuses and went back, he said,
“Well, that’s number one, Celestine. Wonder if you’ll try it again,
don’t you know;” and strolled off.
Phronsie was back, tucking up the steamer-rug over the thin little
figure in the chair marked “Miss Pepper.” “Now,” she said gayly, “you
are all comfortable, you are sure, Mrs. Benson?”
“Indeed, deary, I couldn’t be more so,” said the little old lady
gratefully. “And now, don’t you stay with me any more, but just go
and enjoy yourself. I saw you talking with some of your fine friends
just now, and you’ve left them to come to me. And it worries me, Miss
Pepper.”
“I do not want to go back,” said Phronsie; “and they are no special
friends of ours.”
Joel came up just then, and brought a steamer-chair for Phronsie, and
put her in it. He smiled at her and at old Mrs. Benson, but Phronsie
looked up in his face quickly. “Joel,” she exclaimed as he bent over
her, “what is it? Is Grandpapa all right?”
“Yes indeed; right and sound as a nut,” he said quickly. “He’s deep in
his book, and won’t stir for an hour you may depend.”
Phronsie leaned back in her chair only half-satisfied, as Joel gave her
another smile and hurried off.
He didn’t appear at dinner; and Grandpapa, who always ate his three
meals a day on shipboard, and knew that Joel did the same, thought it
odd. “Ah, Joel’s knocked over,” he said with a laugh, “now we’ll take
him down, Phronsie, for being a poor sailor.”
Phronsie glanced across at his vacant place with a sigh; but she smiled
cheerily to the old gentleman, and the meal went on, old Mr. King being
in the best of spirits, and the life of the captain’s table.
At nightfall, as little Mrs. Benson slipped off to her stateroom,
Phronsie parted with her at the door. “Now I know, deary, the Lord
means me to see my old home once more. Seems as if I could smell the
green grass;” she grasped the young girl’s hands eagerly, and there was
a world of longing in her quiet eyes. “O Miss Pepper! there’s no grass
like the green grass of old England, and there’s no sun like the sun
that shines over old England. I’ve been hungry for it, dear,” her voice
sank to a happy whisper; “but now I’m almost there.”
“Yes,” said Phronsie, happy in the other’s happiness, and feeling a
little of her own dreadful load of suspense lifted; “we shall be in
port day after to-morrow if all goes well.”
“Only one more day after to-morrow,” said the little old lady with
a sudden cry of joy, “and I shall see my two boys. Praise the Lord!
Well, will you kiss me good-night, deary, and forgive an old woman for
keeping you standing so long?”
Phronsie bent over, and laid her fresh young lips on the withered cheek.
“Good-night, deary; and the Lord give you all you want.”
Phronsie went back to stay with Grandpapa on deck. It was a beautiful
night, and he wanted nothing so much as to pace up and down proudly
with her on his arm. “It passes my mind where Joel is,” he said after
a little pause. “He’s not in his stateroom; I went there after dinner.
Sly dog! I suppose he’s working off his seasickness somewhere, and
hopes to keep it from us. But we’ll take the wind out of Master Joel’s
sails--eh, Phronsie;” and he chuckled at the delight in prospect over
laughing at Joel’s boast that he’d never been seasick in his life, “and
nothing can make me seasick, sir!”
[Illustration: “Bless the Lord, Phronsie,” he lifted his sea-cap
reverently, “we’re almost there.”]
“And now, child, I can’t say how thankful I am we’re nearly across.
It’s been the longest voyage; can’t help but be, when one is anxious
to have it over. But bless the Lord, Phronsie,” he lifted his sea-cap
reverently and looked out into the beautiful night, “we’re almost
there. And, my child,” here he pressed Phronsie’s arm tenderly, “I
can’t tell you how I feel, to see you bearing with the old man all
these days, after what I’ve caused you. Oh, I can’t, Phronsie!” His
voice broke, and Phronsie could feel the thrill that went all over him.
“Grandpapa,” she begged, and made him look into her face. “Why, how can
you,” she cried brightly, “when we’re almost there? And you’ve borne up
so well, Grandpapa dear.”
“To be sure--to be sure!” exclaimed the old gentleman, pulling up his
stately figure to its greatest height; “well, where do you suppose that
rascal Joel is?”
It was a good two hours after when Grandpapa said, “Good-night, dear,”
and kissed her. Phronsie threw on her steamer-cloak, and sat down in
her stateroom to wait for--she knew not what. But she must see Joel
some way.
“I cannot ring for the steward, for Grandpapa will then hear me in the
next room. O Joey, Joey! But I know he’s not sick,” went on Phronsie
to herself--“by the way, he looked as if he didn’t want me to question
him.”
Suddenly there came a little knock, and in an instant Joel was in the
stateroom. Phronsie started to her feet, and took his hands.
“O Joey!” she cried, trying not to scream; for his face was black with
grime, and drawn and haggard. “There, there, don’t try to tell me what
has happened,” as he laid his head on her arm.
“Oh! I’ve tried my best--we all have,” said Joel with a convulsive
effort, and raising his head, his face working dreadfully; “but it’s
gained on us--the ship’s on fire, Phronsie! Hush! we can keep it from
Grandpapa a little longer, maybe till morning. O Phronsie!” He held her
so closely that she could scarcely breathe. “It broke out in the cotton
waste this morning--must have been smouldering some time.”
“You have been helping?” asked Phronsie, as he paused unable to utter
another word.
“Yes; took a hand at the pumps,” said Joel, thinking it unnecessary to
relate that he had been at them ever since.
“Oh, my poor boy!” cried Phronsie, taking his face in her hands. “Joel,
Mamsie would be glad.”
“Phronsie, I’m going back. It can be kept under, I think, from the
worst, till morning. The people must not know, for all of us would be
lost then in the row they’d make.” He was whispering hoarsely, and
Phronsie laid her hand over his mouth, “Hush, dear, I know,” she said.
“There are life-preservers in your rooms,” Joel glanced quickly at
hers, “and you know how to get them on if anything _suddenly_ should
happen?”
“Yes, Joey dear.”
“But I shall be back to you--never fear about that.”
“Yes, Joey.”