man questions.”
They spoke to each other in short, sharp sentences, knowing there was no time to lose.
“Are you horribly frightened?” he asked.
She stamped her foot.
“I hate it—I hate it!” she said, flinging out her hand towards the black, heaving water. “The plunge—the choking! No one could hate it more. But I want to DO something!”
She was turning away when he caught her hand and held her.
“Wait a second,” he said. “I hate it as much as you do, but I believe we two can keep our heads. Those who can do that may help, perhaps. Let us try to quiet the people. As soon as I find out anything I will come to your friends’ stateroom. You are near the boats there. Then I shall go back to the second cabin. You work on your side and I’ll work on mine. That’s all.”
“Thank you. Tell the Worthingtons. I’m going to the saloon deck.” She was off as she spoke.
Upon the stairway she found herself in the midst of a struggling panic-stricken mob, tripping over each other on the steps, and clutching at any garment nearest, to drag themselves up as they fell, or were on the point of falling. Everyone was crying out in question and appeal.
Bettina stood still, a firm, tall obstacle, and clutched at the hysteric woman who was hurled against her.
“I’ve been on deck,” she said. “A tramp steamer has run into us. No one has time to answer questions. The first thing to do is to put on warm clothes and secure the life belts in case you need them.”
At once everyone turned upon her as if she was an authority. She replied with almost fierce determination to the torrent of words poured forth.
“I know nothing further—only that if one is not a fool one must make sure of clothes and belts.”
“Quite right, Miss Vanderpoel,” said one young man, touching his cap in nervous propitiation.
“Stop screaming,” Betty said mercilessly to the woman. “It’s idiotic—the more noise you make the less chance you have. How can men keep their wits among a mob of shrieking, mad women?”
That the remote Miss Vanderpoel should have emerged from her luxurious corner to frankly bully the lot of them was an excellent shock for the crowd. Men, who had been in danger of losing their heads and becoming as uncontrolled as the women, suddenly realised the fact and pulled themselves together. Bettina made her way at once to the Worthingtons’ staterooms.
There she found frenzy reigning. Blanche and Marie Worthington were darting to and fro, dragging about first one thing and then another. They were silly with fright, and dashed at, and dropped alternately, life belts, shoes, jewel cases, and wraps, while they sobbed and cried out hysterically. “Oh, what shall we do with mother! What shall we do!”
The manners of Betty Vanderpoel’s sharp schoolgirl days returned to her in full force. She seized Blanche by the shoulder and shook her.
“What a donkey you are!” she said. “Put on your clothes. There they are,” pushing her to the place where they hung. “Marie—dress yourself this moment. We may be in no real danger at all.”
“Do you think not! Oh, Betty!” they wailed in concert. “Oh, what shall we do with mother!”
“Where is your mother?”
“She fainted—Louise–-“
Betty was in Mrs. Worthington’s cabin before they had finished speaking. The poor woman had fainted, and struck her cheek against a chair. She lay on the floor in her nightgown, with blood trickling from a cut on her face. Her maid, Louise, was wringing her hands, and doing nothing whatever.
“If you don’t bring the brandy this minute,” said the beautiful Miss Vanderpoel, “I’ll box your ears. Believe me, my girl.” She looked so capable of doing it that the woman was startled and actually offended into a return of her senses. Miss Vanderpoel had usually the best possible manners in dealing with her inferiors.
Betty poured brandy down Mrs. Worthington’s throat and applied strong smelling salts until she gasped back to consciousness. She had just burst into frightened sobs, when Betty heard confusion and exclamations in the adjoining room. Blanche and Marie had cried out, and a man’s voice was speaking. Betty went to them. They were in various stages of undress, and the red-haired second-cabin passenger was standing at the door.
“I promised Miss Vanderpoel–-” he was saying, when Betty came forward. He turned to her promptly.
“I come to tell you that it seems absolutely to be relied on that there is no immediate danger. The tramp is more injured than we are.”
“Oh, are you sure? Are you sure?” panted Blanche, catching at his sleeve.
“Yes,” he answered. “Can I do anything for you?” he said to Bettina, who was on the point of speaking.
“Will you be good enough to help me to assist Mrs. Worthington into her berth, and then try to find the doctor.”
He went into the next room without speaking. To Mrs. Worthington he spoke briefly a few words of reassurance. He was a powerful man, and laid her on her berth without dragging her about uncomfortably, or making her feel that her weight was greater than even in her most desponding moments she had suspected. Even her helplessly hysteric mood was illuminated by a ray of grateful appreciation.
“Oh, thank you—thank you,” she murmured. “And you are quite sure there is no actual danger, Mr.–-?”
“Salter,” he terminated for her. “You may feel safe. The damage is really only slight, after all.”
“It is so good of you to come and tell us,” said the poor lady, still tremulous. “The shock was awful. Our introduction has been an alarming one. I—I don’t think we have met during the voyage.”
“No,” replied Salter. “I am in the second cabin.”
