The After House
Page 10He scowled. "Damn Williams, anyhow! His instructions were--but
never mind about that. Get rid of the whiskey."
Turner coming up the companionway at that moment, Vail left me. I
had understood him perfectly. It was common talk in the forecastle
that Turner was drinking hard, and that, in fact, the cruise had
been arranged by his family in the hope that, away from his clubs;
he would alter his habits--a fallacy, of course. Taken away from
his customary daily round, given idle days on a summer sea, and
aided by Williams, the butler, he was drinking his head off.
Early as it was, he was somewhat the worse for it that morning.
He made directly for me. It was the first time he had noticed me,
although it was the third day out. He stood in front of me, his
perhaps the advantage of me.
"What's this about Williams?" he demanded furiously. "What do
you mean by a thing like that?"
"He was bullying me. I didn't intend to drop him."
The ship was rolling gently; he made a pass at me with a magazine
he carried, and almost lost his balance. The women had risen,
and were watching from the corner of the after house. I caught him
and steadied him until he could clutch a chair.
"You try any tricks like that again, and you'll go overboard," he
stormed. "Who are you, anyhow? Not one of our men?"
I saw the quick look between Vail and Mrs. Turner, and saw her come
"Marsh!" Mrs. Turner protested. "I told you about him--the man
who had been ill."
"Oh, another of your friends!" he sneered, and looked from me to
Vail with his ugly smile.
Vail went rather pale and threw up his head quickly. The next
moment Mrs. Johns had saved the situation with an irrelevant remark,
and the incident was over. They were playing bridge, not without
dispute, but at least without insult. But I had hard a glimpse
beneath the surface of that luxurious cruise, one of many such in
the next few days.
That was on Monday, the third day out. Up to that time Miss Lee
deck, to comment on a corner that she thought might be cleaner, and
another time in the evening, when she and Vail sat in chairs until
late, when she had sent me below for a wrap. She looked past me
rather than at me, gave me her orders quietly but briefly, and did
not even take the trouble to ignore me. And yet, once or twice, I
had found her eyes fixed on me with a cool, half-amused expression,
as if she found something in my struggles to carry trays as if I
had been accustomed to them, or to handle a mop as a mop should be
handled and not like a hockey stick--something infinitely
entertaining and not a little absurd.