The Girl on the Boat Part 11

Sam gazed at him, revolted. More than ever he began to understand how it was that a girl with ideals had broken off her engagement with this man.

He finished dressing, and, after a satisfying breakfast, went on deck.

-- 2

It was, as he had said, a glorious morning. The sample which he had had through the porthole had not prepared him for the magic of it. The s.h.i.+p swam in a vast bowl of the purest blue on an azure carpet flecked with silver. It was a morning which impelled a man to great deeds, a morning which shouted to him to chuck his chest out and be romantic. The sight of Billie Bennett, trim and gleaming in a pale green sweater and white skirt had the effect of causing Marlowe to alter the programme which he had sketched out. Proposing to this girl was not a thing to be put off till after lunch. It was a thing to be done now and at once. The finest efforts of the finest cooks in the world could not put him in better form than he felt at present.

"Good morning, Miss Bennett."

"Good morning, Mr. Marlowe."

"Isn't it a perfect day?"

"Wonderful!"

"It makes all the difference on board s.h.i.+p if the weather is fine."

"Yes, doesn't it?"

How strange it is that the great emotional scenes of history, one of which is coming along almost immediately, always begin in this prosaic way Shakespeare tries to conceal the fact, but there can be little doubt that Romeo and Juliet edged into their balcony scene with a few remarks on the pleasantness of the morning.

"Shall we walk round?" said Billie.

Sam glanced about him. It was the time of day when the promenade deck was always full. Pa.s.sengers in coc.o.o.ns of rugs lay on chairs, waiting in a dull trance till the steward should arrive with the eleven o'clock soup. Others, more energetic, strode up and down. From the point of view of a man who wished to reveal his most sacred feelings to a beautiful girl, the place was practically a tube station during the rush hour.

"It's so crowded," he said. "Let's go on to the upper deck."

"All right. You can read to me. Go and fetch your Tennyson."

Sam felt that fortune was playing into his hands. His four-days'

acquaintance with the bard had been sufficient to show him that the man was there forty ways when it came to writing about love. You could open his collected works almost anywhere and shut your eyes and dab down your finger on some red-hot pa.s.sage. A proposal of marriage is a thing which it is rather difficult to bring neatly into the ordinary run of conversation. It wants leading up to. But, if you once start reading poetry, especially Tennyson's, almost anything is apt to give you your cue. He bounded light-heartedly into the state-room, waking Eustace Hignett from an uneasy dose.

"Now what?" said Eustace.

"Where's that copy of Tennyson you gave me? I left it--ah, here it is.

Well, see you later!"

"Wait! What are you going to do?"

"Oh, that girl I told you about," said Sam making for the door. "She wants me to read Tennyson to her on the upper deck."

"Tennyson?"

"Yes."

"On the upper deck?"

"Yes."

"This is the end," said Eustace Hignett, turning his face to the wall.

Sam raced up the companion-way as far as it went; then, going out on deck, climbed a flight of steps and found himself in the only part of the s.h.i.+p which was ever even comparatively private. The main herd of pa.s.sengers preferred the promenade deck, two layers below.

He threaded his way through a maze of boats, ropes, and curious-shaped steel structures which the architect of the s.h.i.+p seemed to have tacked on at the last moment in a spirit of sheer exuberance. Above him towered one of the funnels, before him a long, slender mast. He hurried on, and presently came upon Billie sitting on a garden seat, backed by the white roof of the smoke-room; beside this was a small deck which seemed to have lost its way and strayed up here all by itself. It was the deck on which one could occasionally see the patients playing an odd game with long sticks and bits of wood--not shuffleboard but something even lower in the mental scale. This morning, however, the devotees of this pastime were apparently under proper restraint, for the deck was empty.

"This is jolly," he said sitting down beside the girl and drawing a deep breath of satisfaction.

"Yes, I love this deck. It's so peaceful."

"It's the only part of the s.h.i.+p where you can be reasonably sure of not meeting stout men in flannels and nautical caps. An ocean voyage always makes me wish that I had a private yacht."

"It would be nice."

"A private yacht," repeated Sam, sliding a trifle closer. "We would sail about, visiting desert islands which lay like jewels in the heart of tropic seas."

"We?"

"Most certainly we. It wouldn't be any fun if you were not there."

"That's very complimentary."

"Well, it wouldn't. I'm not fond of girls as a rule...."

"Oh, aren't you?"

"No!" said Sam decidedly. It was a point which he wished to make clear at the outset. "Not at all fond. My friends have often remarked upon it.

A palmist once told me that I had one of those rare spiritual natures which cannot be satisfied with subst.i.tutes but must seek and seek till they find their soul-mate. When other men all round me were frittering away their emotions in idle flirtations which did not touch their deeper natures, I was ... I was ... well, I wasn't, if you see what I mean."

"Oh, you wasn't ... weren't?"

"No. Some day I knew I should meet the only girl I could possibly love, and then I would pour out upon her the stored-up devotion of a lifetime, lay an unblemished heart at her feet, fold her in my arms and say 'At last!'"

"How jolly for her. Like having a circus all to oneself."

"Well, yes," said Sam after a momentary pause.

"When I was a child I always thought that that would be the most wonderful thing in the world."

"The most wonderful thing in the world is love, a pure and consuming love, a love which...."

"Oh, h.e.l.lo!" said a voice.

All through this scene, right from the very beginning of it, Sam had not been able to rid himself of a feeling that there was something missing.

The time and the place and the girl--they were all present and correct; nevertheless there was something missing, some familiar object which seemed to leave a gap. He now perceived that what had caused the feeling was the complete absence of Bream Mortimer. He was absent no longer. He was standing in front of them with one leg, his head lowered as if he were waiting for someone to scratch it. Sam's primary impulse was to offer him a nut.

"Oh, h.e.l.lo, Bream!" said Billie.

"Hullo!" said Sam.