Barry Craven turned toward his host with amused curiosity in his grey eyes.
"Well?" He asked at length.
Atherton returned his look with a slightly embarrassed smile.
"It hasn't been so blamed funny after all," he said quietly. "A Chinese coffin-ship from 'Frisco would be hilarious compared with this trip," rapped a sarcastic voice from behind the silk handkerchief.
"I've felt a brute ever since we lost sight of Sandy Hook," continued Atherton, looking away toward the twinkling lights on shore, "and as soon as we put in here I couldn't stand it any longer, so I cabled to Nina that I was returning at once. I'm quite prepared to eat humble pie and all the rest of it--in fact I shall relish it," with a sudden shy laugh.
His brother heaved his vast bulk clear of the deck chair with a mighty effort.
"Humble pie! Huh!" he snorted contemptuously. "She'll kill the fatted calf and put a halo of glory round your head and invite in all the neighbours 'for this my prodigal husband has returned to me!'" He ducked with surprising swiftness to avoid a book that Atherton hurled at his head and shook a chubby forefinger at him reprovingly.
"Don't assault the only guide, philosopher and friend you've got who has the courage to tell you a few home truths. Say, Jermyn, d'y'know why I finally consented to come on this crazy cruise, anyway? Because Nina got me on the phone while you were hammering away at me at the club and ordered me to go right along with you and see you didn't do any dam foolishness. Oh, she's got me to heel right enough. Well! I guess I'll turn in and get to sleep before those fool engines start chump-chumping under my pillow. You boys will want a pow-wow to your two selves; there are times when three is a crowd. Good-bye, Mr. Craven, pleased to have met you. Hope to see you in the Adirondacks next summer--a bit more crowded than the Rockies, which are Jermyn's Mecca, but more home comforts--appeal to a man of my build." He slipped away with the noiseless tread that is habitual to heavy men.
Jermyn Atherton looked after his retreating figure and laughed uproariously.
"Isn't he the darndest? A clam is communicative compared with Leslie. Fancy him having that card up his sleeve all the while. Nina's had the bulge on me right straight along."
He pushed a cigar-box across the wicker table between them.
"No, thanks," said Craven, taking a case from his pocket. "I'll have a cigarette, if you don't mind."