Crawshay found himself a popular hero when at a few minutes before
eleven o'clock the next morning he made his appearance on deck. With
little regard to the weather, which was fine and warm, he was clad in
a thick grey suit and a voluminous overcoat. The fact that his
borrowed hat was several sizes too large for him detracted a little
from the dignity of his appearance, a misfortune for which he
endeavoured to atone by a distinct aloofness of manner. The newspaper
men, however, were not to be denied.
"Say, Mr. Crawshay," Brand began, stopping him as soon as he had
emerged from the companionway, "I'd like to shake hands with you. My
name's Brand. I'm a newspaper man."
Crawshay shook hands, although he showed no particular enthusiasm
about the proceeding.
"And I am Clark, of the Minneapolis _Record_" the small, dark man, who
was generally by Brand's side, added. "Put it there, sir."
Crawshay put it there with an incipient reluctance which the two men
were not slow to note.
"Kind of shock to you yesterday, no doubt," Brand began. "It was a
fine, plucky thing to do, sir. Ever flown before?"
"Never," Crawshay confessed. "The sensation was--er--entirely new to
me. I found the descent upon the water most uncomfortable." "Soaked
your shore clothes, eh?" Brand observed.
"I was not attired for the proceeding," Crawshay admitted. "I was, in
fact, very inappropriately dressed. I was wearing a thin flannel suit,
which was completely ruined, and I do not think that I shall ever be
warm again."
Mr. Brand glanced longingly at his wrist watch and sighed.
"I make it a rule, sir," he said, "never to drink before twelve
o'clock, but there is no rule without an exception. If you think that
a double jigger of gin, with a little lemon and--"
"Stop!" Crawshay begged. "I have no sympathy with the weird compounds
produced by your bartenders. As a matter of fact, I take nothing at
all except with my meals. I am going to sit in this sunshine and try
and recover my normal temperature."
"There are a few of the boys on board," Brand continued insinuatingly,
"who would like to join in our little chat, if you wouldn't mind their
stepping round."
"I have no desire for a chat with any one," Crawshay objected. "I
came up on deck to rest. Kindly ask me what you want to know and leave
me alone for a time."
"Then what in thunder sent you here after an American liner on a
seaplane?" Brand demanded. "That's about the long and short of what
we're aching to know, I think."
"You've hit it, Ned, as usual," Mr. Clark, of the Minneapolis
_Record_, acquiesced. Crawshay drew his rug about him a little
peevishly.
"My name," he said, "is Charles Reginald Crawshay."
"We got that from the captain," Brand replied. "Very nice name, too."
"I have been attached," Crawshay went on, "to the British Embassy at
Washington."
"You don't say!" Brand murmured.
"I am returning home," Crawshay continued, "because I intend to join
the British Army, I was unfortunate enough to miss the boat, and being
in company with a person of authority and influence, he suggested,
partly in joke, that I should try to persuade one of the pilots of
your new seaplanes at Jersey to bring me out. He further bet me five
hundred dollars that I would not attempt the flight. I am one of those
sort of people," Crawshay confessed meditatively, "who rise to a bet
as to no other thing in life. I suppose it comes from our inherited
sporting instincts. I accepted the bet and here I am."
"In time to save the British Army, eh?" Brand observed.
"In time to take my rightful place amongst the defenders of my
country," was the dignified rebuke. "Incidentally, I have won a
hundred pounds."
"Would you do it again for the same money?" Clark asked guilefully.
The Englishman coughed.
"I must confess," he said, "that it is not an experience I am anxious
to repeat."
Brand rose to his feet.
"Well, sir," he concluded, "I offer you my congratulations on your
trip. We shall just dot a few words together concerning it for the New
York newspapers. Anything you'd like to add?"
Crawshay stroked his upper lip.
"You can say," he pronounced with dignity, "that I found the trip most
enjoyable. And by-the-by, you had better put a word in about the skill
of the pilot--Lieutenant T. Johnson, I believe his name was. I have no
experience in such matters, and I found him once or twice a little
unsympathetic when I complained of bumps, but the young man did his
best--of that I am convinced."
Mr. Brand's tongue slowly crept round the outside of his mouth. He met
the eye of his friend Mr. Clark and indulged in a wink. He had the air
of a man who felt relieved by the operation.
"We are very much obliged to you, Mr. Crawshay," he declared. "You
have done something to brighten this trip, anyway."
"A little later," Crawshay announced, "either just before your
luncheon or dinner hour, if you and your friends would meet me in the
smoking room, I should be delighted to remember in the customary
fashion that I have won a rather considerable wager."
"Come, that's bully," Brand declared, with a little real feeling in
his tone. "I tell you, Clark," he added, as they made their way along
the deck to the writing room, "you've got to prick these damned
Britishers pretty hard, but they've generally got a bit of the right
feeling somewhere tucked away. He'll have a swollen head for the rest
of this voyage, though." Crawshay watched the two men disappear, out
of the corner of his eye. Then he rose to his feet and commenced a
little promenade about the sunny portion of the deck. After two or
three turns he found himself face to face with Jocelyn Thew, who had
just issued from the companionway.
"Good morning, Mr. Late Passenger!" the latter exclaimed.
Crawshay paused and looked him up and down.
"Do I know you, sir?" he asked.
"I am not so sure that you do," Jocelyn replied, "but after yesterday
the whole world knows Mr. Reginald Crawshay."
"Very kind of you, I am sure," Crawshay murmured. "What I did really
wasn't worth making a fuss about."
"You had an uncomfortable ride, I fear?" Jocelyn continued.
"I was most unsuitably attired," Crawshay hastened to explain. "If,
instead of asking me very absurd questions at the aerodrome, they had
provided me with some garments calculated to exclude the salt water, I
should be able to look back upon the trip with more pleasurable
feelings."
"Pity you had to make it, wasn't it?" Jocelyn observed, falling into
step with him.
"I scarcely follow you, Mr.--Ought I to know your name? I have a
shocking memory."
"My name is Jocelyn Thew."
"Mr. Jocelyn Thew," Crawshay concluded.
"I mean that it was a pity you missed the boat, you and Hobson, wasn't
it? What was the weather like in Chicago?" "Hot," Crawshay replied.
"I was hotter there than I ever expect to be again in this world."
"A long, tiring journey, too, from Halifax."
"Not only that, sir," Crawshay agreed, "but a dirty journey. I like to
travel with the windows down--cold water and fresh air, you know, for
us English people--but the soft coal you burn in your engines is the
most appalling uncleanly stuff I have ever met."
"Still, you got here," Jocelyn reminded him.
"I got here," Crawshay agreed with an air of satisfaction.
"And you can take a bath three times a day, if you feel like it, on
board," Jocelyn continued. "I'm afraid you won't find much else
to do."
"One can never tell," Crawshay sighed. "I have started on ocean trips
sometimes which promised absolutely nothing in the way of
entertainment, and I have discovered myself, before the end of the
journey, thoroughly interested and amused."
"Nothing like looking on the bright side of things," Jocelyn observed.
Crawshay turned his head and contemplated his companion for a few
moments. Jocelyn Thew, notwithstanding his fine, slim figure, his
well-cut clothes and lean, handsome face, carried always with him some
nameless, unanalysable air of the man who has played the explorer, who
has peered into strange places, who has handled the reins which guide
the white horse of life as well as the black horse of death.
"I am quite sure," he said, in a tone of kindly approval, "that I
shall find you a most interesting companion on this trip. You and I
must have a little further conversation together. I have won a
considerable sum of money, I may say, by my--er--exploit, and I have
invited some of these newspaper fellows to take a drink with me before
luncheon in the smoking room. I hope you will join us?"
"I shall be delighted," Jocelyn accepted. "A drink with a friend, and
a little mutual toast, is always a pleasure."
Crawshay paused. They were standing outside the entrance to the
captain's cabin.
"I quite agree with you," he said. "Exercise your ingenuity, Mr.
Jocelyn Thew, and think out a toast that we can both drink sincerely.
You will excuse me? I am going in to talk to the captain for a few
minutes. There are a few matters concerning my personal comfort which
need his attention. I find the purser," he added, dropping his voice,
"an excellent fellow, no doubt, but just a trifle unsympathetic, eh?"
"I have no doubt you are right," Jocelyn agreed. "We will meet again,
then, just before one o'clock."