CHAPTER IV
VI LAY recovering from the moist excitement in the long chair which she had dragged along the deck. The longer she thought over the incident the more vexed she became with the “clumsy fool,” as she called him mentally. He would probably sulk or do something foolish which her uncle would be bound to notice; and worse than that she feared that if he really were such a cad as apparently he had proved himself to be, he might seek to revenge himself upon her uncle through the firm.
When her thoughts turned to the other man she again became vexed. She supposed that the fellow would consider that she was under an obligation to him and therefore that she would have to be nice. Association brought the memory of his statement at dinner that he did not drink. Was he merely swanking? she wondered.
At the same moment she recollected that although Selwyn drank all the time it had never occurred to her to remonstrate with him. Perhaps it was because the one had money and everything life could give him—or rather everything he could take from life—whereas the other had appeared to her to be ruining a career that was necessary to him for his welfare. Yet that was queer reasoning.
“Must have appealed to my maternal instinct,” she decided lazily at last, “although I didn't know I had one.”
Presently she heard a step and saw Selwyn emerge from the companionway. A dread that he was coming over to apologize to her faded as he deliberately dragged his chair, which. was already some distance away from hers, right across in front of her to the other side of the deck. A flare of a match as he lighted a cigar showed a sullenly angry face. Oh, the man, she thought. How perfectly dreadful to be cooped up on a boat with a creature like that!
Next morning Selwyn did not appear at breakfast, commanding Chi Loo to serve him in his cabin. Vi sighed when she saw her uncle frown, for the Old Man resented extra work being put upon the steward by anybody who was not ill. After the meal he rose and made for Selwyn's cabin.
“Oh, Lord!” groaned Vi. “Now, for it!”
She sat still and listened.
“Good morning, Mr. Selwyn!”
“Mornin',” growled Selwyn.
“Are you ill? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, there's not.”
“Well, Mr. Selwyn, the steward has more than enough to do without”
“I don't care a what the steward has to do!” snapped Selwyn's voice. “In future I intend to have my meals served in here, whether you like it or whether you don't. This is my ship. D'you understand, cap'n?”
“The ship,” came the Old Man's voice quietly after a moment's silence, “belongs to the firm of Selwyn, Meredith & Company, and I am in command of her.”
“You won't be long, cap'n!”
“I shall give orders to the steward that he is not to serve you here unless you are ill. Please understand that, Mr. Selwyn.”
“You do and you know what will”
The closing of the door shut off the last words. Captain Kelvett walked across the saloon toward the companion with a wrinkled brow. Vi rushed after him.
“Uncle, I heard. Don't take any notice of the cad.”
He looked at her, frowning.
“What's the matter with the man?” he grumbled.
“He won't and can't do anything. He's probably half-drunk and threatening nonsense.”
“No, it isn't nonsense, Vi. You don't know. Old Selwyn thinks the world of this boy of his; and after all it's my bread and butter.”
“Oh, but they wouldn't; they couldn't, uncle!”
“But they do, Vi. Only the year before the war old Belknap was thrown out of the Chisholm to make place for a youngster of thirty who happened to be a schoolmate of this man here.”
“Oh, it's shameful!” exclaimed Vi.
“Perhaps, but it's true. But I can't understand what's made him so sore.”
VI HESITATED. If she told him even half the truth he would probably be so enraged that he would lead to a serious row and would put Selwyn in irons if he became violent. No; she had better let the matter rest and hope that the cad would not carry out his threats. Humiliating, but as her uncle said it was his bread and butter.
She spent the morning on the upper bridge with the grizzled mate, conscious of the eyes of Selwyn, who was smoking cigars and drinking a bottle of champagne just below. At lunch he appeared to have thought better of his decision and sat himself next to her in his usual seat. Throughout the meal he would not speak.
Once when the captain addressed him to make polite conversation he stared sullenly at his plate and refused to answer. Vi's anger began to mount until at last she felt that she could not endure the strain and, rising, she apologized and retired to the deck.
She tried to settle down to read in her chair, but presently Selwyn came up and occupied his at the other side of the deck. At length, conscious of his eyes watching her although she had deliberately, shifted her chair to show the back, she rose and went on to the upper bridge where the second mate was on watch. He came forward with a camp-stool which she sometimes used, but she refused it, saying she was tired of lying about.
“If only one could get out and walk a mile or so!” she exclaimed. “I'm so sick of being cooped up for so long with—for so long. But I expect you're used to it, Mr. Carnell?”
“Oh, yes; I'm used to it, Miss Kelvett. Got to be, you know.”
She noticed a peculiar look in his eyes as he spoke to her and a new timbre in his voice. As he leaned over the rail beside her gazing out to sea she studied his face.
Yes, there was a change in the man. The expression was less bitter. The face was more carefully shaved than usual, without any tiny gashes which told of an unsteady hand; and the blue e eyes, were bright, the blond-lashed lids fresh and clear.
Again she recollected his statement when they were drinking champagne in the saloon. She considered for a minute and then said quietly—
“I owe you an apology, Mr. Carnell.”
“You do?” he queried in surprize.
“Yes. Don't you recollect my impertinent question about—er—drink?”
“Oh! Oh, I had forgotten that, Miss Kelvett. Besides at that time my temper was—well, I might have been rather rude.”
“I deserved it,” said she, smiling brightly at him.
“Oh, no. I only hope that you will forget it.”
“Of course,” she assented, stared at the shimmering white horizon, smiled and with a short laugh said:
“I wonder whether you would mind if I asked the same question again? My curiosity torments me so!”
“Certainly. But I don't.”
“Don't drink?”
“No. As I said in the saloon.”
“But you did then?”
“Oh, yes; certainly I did. I don't think that—I was ever quite sober; and never drunk either, for I can stand a lot, you know.”
“You know I can't help—wanting to know everything,” smiled Vi. “But—why did you stop?”
Again the peculiar expression came into his gaze; then he turned and looked out to sea as he said casually—
“Oh, well, I just cut it out, as they say.”
Vi's expression became serious.
“Well, it was rather an idiotic thing to do, don't you think? I mean in excess. As a matter of fact I can never see the attraction in it nor understand why people do it.”
“Don't you?” he smiled at her. “I do.”
“Why did you then?”
“I? Oh.”
He paused to look at her.
“Well, I'll tell you. I drank deliberately for the reason that thousands drink—as a narcotic—to stop thought.”
“You!” she exclaimed. “Somehow I should never have imagined that. You're so—well, young and healthy and—that sort of thing,” she added lamely.
“Yes, that's true. But all the more reason.”
HE WALKED across to the middle of the bridge, glanced at the a compass and down on to the deck behind them and returned.:
“How long has your uncle had a command, Miss Kelvett?”
“Uncle? Oh, I don't know. Ever since I can remember, I think.”
“D'you know why he got a command?—because merit will seldom bring one.”
“Why, what— Oh, yes; I recollect. Mr. Masters told me. You have to invest.”
“That's right. Now, if you were a man would you care to live this life of sheer slavery for a pittance for twenty years to gain command of a ship like this where you'd be bound down, tied for the rest of your life? And how long d'you suppose it would take a saving man—not me, by !—a saving man to save a thousand pounds out of ten pounds a month? That's what we got before the war. Without money or influence a sailor hasn't a chance—unless he's a crook.
“Look at Mr. Masters. He's a good seaman, doesn't drink, is straight as a die with an extra-master's ticket for nearly forty years. And where is he? That's why I drank—looking at those dreary years ahead.”
“But couldn't you—have gone on a liner or something?”
“Overcrowded except for influence. I thought that the war might have brought me a little good, but here I am! That's why I drank, Miss Kelvett.”
“But uncle”
“Maybe your uncle has given up hope like most of em. And he's at the beck and call of any little rat in the office or”
He did not finish the sentence, but a significant glance behind intimated to whom he was referring.
“Yet now you've given up drink all the same?”
“Oh, well, that idea just came along somehow.”
He smiled.
“I saw that I was rather ridiculous and sore about nothing out of the way. Tons of other fellows in the same boat.”
“Why don't you leave the sea, then?”
“To do what? The technicalities of a sailor are of little use ashore except for special jobs, which are nearly all found by—well, a friend or luck.”
Again he smiled.
“Perhaps my luck will change now, Miss Kelvett.”
“I sincerely hope it will,” said she.
“He is rather nice,” she thought later as she descended to the chartroom to have the customary tea with her uncle—although the Old Man always supplemented the tea with a good dash of grog.
To her surprize Selwyn came in and without a word sat himself down. He took his tea, which usually he rejected with a joke, and quietly began to munch biscuits. Uncle and niece exchanged covert glances. Presently Selwyn, who seemed rather scared or ashamed if such a sentiment were possible to him began a subdued conversation with the captain although he did not attempt to address Vi and she studiously ignored him.
When presently the Old Man rose and lighting a cigar, went out, Vi perceived Selwyn's object, for he shot a swift glance at her, laughed and said:
“I say, I'm awf'ly sorry we had that rumpus the other night, only you shouldn't have tempted me. Let's make it up; shall we?”
The insolent manner and phrasing naturally infuriated Vi. She stared at him coldly and rose with her chin in the air. As she reached the door he sprang and caught her arm savagely.
“You !” he whispered, his face contorted with rage. “I'll get you yet, and smash your uncle as well.”
“Let go my arm!” commanded Vi haughtily.
“What a rotten little fool I am!” she reproached herself when, still flushed with anger, she was mounting the bridge ladder. “Merely because I take notice of a beastly little cad I'm going to make poor uncle lose his job.”