“Do you imagine you are here to look after me?” said Miss Crowland fiercely.
“Think of me as a mother,” said Reggie, and she went away in a rage.
“Well, monsieur?” Alice laughed at him. “You are making friends everywhere. You are content?”
“If I had a razor and a clean shirt,” Reggie said.
“Alas, monsieur, I have none. I do not play—how do you call them?—principal boys. Bon voyage, monsieur.” She tripped away.
It was made clear to Reggie that he was not going to be popular on board. The retinue of the Prince avoided him emphatically. The royal family remained below. He was taken to a cabin, and there dinner was served him.
“And not a bad dinner either,” said Reggie, as he went on deck again.
It was dark and a moonless night. The yacht was meeting a southerly breeze and the first of the ocean swell and grew lively. Reggie had the deck to himself. He was nearly at the end of his cigar before anyone disturbed his humorous meditations.
“Mr. Fortune? You amuse yourself?” It was the Comte de Spoleto.
“I can smile.”
“In effect, my friend, we are ridiculous. My uncle he is a dreamer—a student. He sees a thing in his mind, it is logical, it is to his desire, and he conceives it done. He has been like that always. A temperament! He is not a man of the world.”
“I guessed that,” Reggie murmured.
“But what to do? The situation is impossible, my friend. Conceive my feelings. This young girl—she is fresh, she is superb as a morning in the mountains—and by me she is exposed to this humiliation. And I—whatever I do, I am ludicrous. I beg of you, my friend, believe that I feel it. Imagine my position.”
“Imagine mine. You might lend me a razor. But hardly a toothbrush.”
“He will not touch land before Spain. Oh, yes, he is capable of it, my friend. But this young girl—”
“Did you bring a toothbrush for her?”
“There is everything for her. Maids, clothes. Oh, he has thought of everything, my uncle. He calls it her trousseau. What a man!”
“Better mutiny. Seize the yacht. Can you navigate? I can’t. That was always the trouble in the pirate stories.”
“Mutiny? They would all die for him. Oh, you are laughing at me. Mon Dieu! my friend, this is very serious. I beg of you, confide in me. You must have some plan. I promise you, I desire nothing better than to restore mademoiselle to her mother. I—”
“Spoleto!”
They turned. The Prince of Ragusa stood at the head of the companion. “My dear uncle—”
“Spoleto! You are a traitor. You—”
“That is not true!”
“You plot against me with this fellow. It is incredible. It is villainous. It is treachery.”
“Sir, I will take that from no man.”
“Yes, you will take it. You will—” It seemed to Reggie that His Highness was about to box his nephew’s ears. Reggie let himself go as the yacht pitched. They all jostled together. His Highness vanished down the companion with a crash.
“Now you’ve done it,” said Reggie.
Spoleto exclaimed, peered at the body lying below, showed Reggie a white face, and hurried down. Reggie followed slowly.
His Highness was already surrounded by servants and his suite.
“When you have all finished, I’ll tell you where he’s hurt,” said Reggie incisively.
“Ah, yes, you are a surgeon,” Spoleto cried. “Stand aside, stand aside. The gentleman is a surgeon. Tell me, is he dead?” His Highness had begun to groan.
“Don’t be futile,” said Reggie, and knelt and began to straighten out the heap. The process caused His Highness anguish. “Yes. He can’t walk. We must get him to bed to examine him.”
It was an elaborate process and punctuated with lamentations … when at last His Highness lay stripped in bed and groaning faintly, “My aunt, what a patient!” Reggie grimaced to himself.
“I think I am everywhere a bruise, Mr. Fortune,” the Prince groaned. “That scoundrel Spoleto!”
“That won’t do, sir. I’m sure he meant nothing,” said Reggie, with admirable magnanimity. “The—the yacht pitched. Now about the elbow.” He began handling it skilfully.
“Ah! Yes. Yes, it is certainly the elbow that is most painful. But my knee also gives me great pain. And my head aches violently.”
“The knee. Yes. The knee is badly bruised. There may be—Ah, well, I can make you more comfortable for the time, sir. But it is my duty to tell you frankly I am anxious about the arm. I must have that elbow X-rayed at once. I am afraid there’s a fracture. A small operation may be necessary. Just a screw in, you know.”
“A screw in my elbow!” the Prince screamed.
“I suppose you don’t wish to lose your arm,” Reggie said sternly.
“Lose my right arm! Good God, Mr. Fortune! You don’t mean—”
“I mean that I must have an X-ray of your elbow immediately and surgical resources at my disposal or I won’t answer for the consequences. The yacht must make for harbour at once.”
“Am I in danger, Mr. Fortune?”
“I hope to save your arm if you give me the chance.”
“I am in your hands, Mr. Fortune,” said the Prince feebly. “Oh! If you could do something to stop this neuralgic pain in my arm—”
In fact, Reggie had a difficult time with him, which you may think was only fair. It was very late before His Highness (who took a morbid interest in his limbs) could be got to sleep; very late—or early—before Reggie went to bed, but all the while the Giulia was steaming back to Tormouth, and when Reggie came on deck again “pink and beautiful,” as he remarked to his mirror, thanks to a razor and linen of Spoleto’s, the brown Tormouth headlands loomed through the morning haze.
Already upon deck were Spoleto and Hilda, walking together, negotiating, as it appeared, a defensive alliance.
“This is very gratifyin’,” said Reggie.
“How is my uncle, Mr. Fortune?” said Spoleto.
“Still asleep, thank Heaven.”
“He is not in any danger?” said Hilda.
“Well, you know, he’s so anxious
