“Bid me to laugh, and I will laugh,” said John.
“Euchre!” she said, looking at him defiantly. “Two-handed euchre! We have played, as nearly as I can estimate, fifteen hundred games, in which he has held both bowers and the ace of trumps—or something equally victorious—I should say fourteen hundred times. Oh!” she cried, with an expression of loathing, “may I never, never, never see a card again as long as I live!” John laughed without restraint, and after a petulant little moue she joined him.
“May I light up my pipe?” he said. “I will get to leeward.”
“I shall not mind in the least,” she assented.
“By the way,” he asked, “does Mr. Carling smoke?”
“He used to,” she replied, “and while we were with the Nollises he smoked every day, but after we left them he fell back into the notion that it was bad for him.”
John filled and lighted his pipe in silence, and after a satisfactory puff or two said: “Will Mr. Carling go in to dinner tonight?”
“Yes,” she replied, “I think he will if it is no rougher than at present.”
“It will probably be smoother,” said John. “You must introduce me to him—”
“Oh,” she interrupted, “of course, but it will hardly be necessary, as Alice and I have spoken so often to him of you—”
“I was going to say,” John resumed, “that he may possibly let me take him off your hands a little, and after dinner will be the best time. I think if I can get him into the smoking room that a cigar and—and—something hot with a bit of lemon peel and so forth later on may induce him to visit with me for a while, and pass the evening, or part of it.”
“You want to be an angel!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I—we—shall be so obliged. I know it’s just what he wants—some man to take him in hand.”
“I’m in no hurry to be an angel,” said John, laughing, and, with a bow, “It’s better sometimes to be near the rose than to be the rose, and you are proposing to overpay me quite. I shall enjoy doing what I proposed, if it be possible.”
Their talk then drifted off into various channels as topics suggested themselves until the ship’s bell sounded the luncheon hour. Miss Blake went to join her sister and brother-in-law, but John had some bread and cheese and beer in the smoking room. It appeared that the ladies had better success than in the morning, for he saw them later on in their steamer chairs with Mr. Carling, who was huddled in many wraps, with the flaps of his cap down over his ears. All the chairs were full—his own included (as happens to easy-tempered men)—and he had only a brief colloquy with the party. He noticed, however, that Mr. Carling had on the russet shoes, and wondered if they pinched him. In fact, though he couldn’t have said exactly why, he rather hoped that they did. He had just that sympathy for the nerves of two-and-fifty which is to be expected from those of five-and-twenty—that is, very little.
When he went in to dinner the Carlings and Miss Blake had been at table some minutes. There had been the usual controversy about what Mr. Carling would drink with his dinner, and he had decided upon Apollinaris water. But Miss Blake, with an idea of her own, had given an order for champagne, and was exhibiting some consternation, real or assumed, at the fact of having a whole bottle brought in with the cork extracted—a customary trick at sea.
“I hope you will help me out,” she said to John as he bowed and seated himself. “ ‘Someone has blundered,’ and here is a whole bottle of champagne which must be drunk to save it. Are you prepared to help turn my, or somebody’s, blunder into hospitality?”
“I am prepared to make any sacrifice,” said John, laughing, “in the sacred cause.”
“No less than I expected of you,” she said. “Noblesse oblige! Please fill your glass.”
“Thanks,” said John. “Permit me,” and he filled her own as well.
As the meal proceeded there was some desultory talk about the weather, the ship’s run, and so on; but Mrs. Carling was almost silent, and her husband said but little more. Even Miss Blake seemed to have something on her mind, and contributed but little to the conversation. Presently Mr. Carling said, “Mary, do you think a mouthful of wine would hurt me?”
“Certainly not,” was the reply. “It will do you good,” reaching over for his glass and pouring the wine.
“That’s enough, that’s enough!” he protested as the foam came up to the rim of the glass. She proceeded to fill it up to the brim and put it beside him, and later, as she had opportunity, kept it replenished.
As the dinner concluded, John said to Mr. Carling: “Won’t you go up to the smoking room with me for coffee? I like a bit of tobacco with mine, and I have some really good cigars and some cigarettes—if you prefer them—that I can vouch for.”
As usual, when the unexpected was presented to his mind, Mr. Carling passed the perplexity on to his women-folk. At this time, however, his dinner and the two glasses of wine which Miss Blake had contrived that he should swallow had braced him up, and John’s suggestion was so warmly seconded by the ladies that, after some feeble protests and misgivings, he yielded, and John carried him off.
“I hope it won’t upset Julius,” said Mrs. Carling doubtfully.
“It won’t do anything of the sort,” her sister replied. “He will get through the evening without worrying himself and you into fits, and, if Mr. Lenox succeeds, you won’t see anything of him till ten o’clock or after, and not then, I hope. Mind, you’re to be sound
