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In a Steamer Chair And Other Stories

R >> Robert Barr >> In a Steamer Chair And Other Stories




"It is a little too hot to suit me," answered the young lady, trying the
Indian sauce, "still, there is a pleasant flavour about it that I like."

"Oh, you are all right," said Morris, jauntily; "you will be a victim of
the chutney habit before two days. People who dislike it at first are
its warmest advocates afterwards. I use the word warmest without any
allusion to the sauce itself, you know. I shall now try some myself."

As he looked round the table for the large bottle, he saw that it had
been whisked away by steward number two, and now stood on the other
table. Miss Earle laughed.

"Oh, I shall have it in a moment," said the young man.

"Do you think it is worth while?"

"Worth while? Why, that is the excitement of a chutney fight. It is not
that we care for chutney at all, but that we simply are bound to have
it. If there were a bottle of chutney at every table, the delights of
chutney would be gone. Steward," said Morris, as that functionary
appeared, "the chutney, please."

The steward cast a rapid glance at the other table, and waited until
steward number two had disappeared. Then Morris had his chutney. Steward
number two, seeing his precious bottle gone, tried a second time to
stealthily obtain possession of it, but Morris said to him in a pleasant
voice, "That's all right, steward, we are through with the chutney. Take
it along, please. So that," continued Mr. Morris, as Miss Earle rose
from the table, "that is your first experience of a chutney fight--one
of the delights of ocean travel."


FOURTH DAY.

Mr. George Morris began to find his "early coffees," as he called them,
very delightful. It was charming to meet a pretty and entertaining
young lady every morning early when they had the deck practically
to themselves. The fourth day was bright and clear, and the sea was
reasonably calm. For the first time he was up earlier than Miss Earle,
and he paced the deck with great impatience, waiting for her appearance.
He wondered who and what she was. He had a dim, hazy idea that some time
before in his life, he had met her, and probably had been acquainted
with her. What an embarrassing thing it would be, he thought, if he had
really known her years before, and had forgotten her, while she knew who
he was, and had remembered him. He thought of how accurately she had
guessed his position in life--if it was a guess. He remembered that
often, when he looked at her, he felt certain he had known her and
spoken to her before. He placed the two steamer chairs in position, so
that Miss Earle's chair would be ready for her when she did appear, and
then, as he walked up and down the deck waiting for her, he began to
wonder at himself. If any one had told him when he left New York that,
within three or four days he could feel such an interest in a person who
previous to that time had been an utter stranger to him, he would have
laughed scornfully and bitterly at the idea. As it was, when he thought
of all the peculiar circumstances of the case, he laughed aloud, but
neither scornfully nor bitterly.

"You must be having very pleasant thoughts, Mr. Morris," said Miss
Earle, as she appeared with a bright shawl thrown over her shoulders,
instead of the long cloak that had encased her before, and with a Tam o'
Shanter set jauntily on her black, curly hair.

"You are right," said Morris, taking off his cap, "I was thinking of
you."

"Oh, indeed," replied the young lady, "that's why you laughed, was it?
I may say that I do not relish being laughed at in my absence, or in my
presence either, for that matter."

"Oh, I assure you I wasn't laughing at you. I laughed with pleasure to
see you come on deck. I have been waiting for you."

"Now, Mr. Morris, that from a man who boasts of his truthfulness is a
little too much. You did not see me at all until I spoke; and if, as you
say, you were thinking of me, you will have to explain that laugh."

"I will explain it before the voyage is over, Miss Earle. I can't
explain it just now."

"Ah, then you admit you were untruthful when you said you laughed
because you saw me?"

"I may as well admit it. You seem to know things intuitively. I am not
nearly as truthful a person as I thought I was until I met you. You seem
the very embodiment of truth. If I had not met you, I imagine I should
have gone through life thinking myself one of the most truthful men in
New York."

"Perhaps that would not be saying very much for yourself," replied the
young lady, as she took her place in the steamer chair.

"I am sorry you have such a poor opinion of us New Yorkers," said the
young man. "Why are you so late this morning?"

"I am not late; it is you who are early. This is my usual time. I have
been a very punctual person all my life."

"There you go again, speaking as if you were ever so old."

"I am."

"Well, I don't believe it. I wish, however, that you had confidence
enough in me to tell me something about yourself. Do you know, I was
thinking this morning that I had met you before somewhere? I feel almost
certain I have."

"Well, that is quite possible, you know. You are a New Yorker, and I
have lived in New York for a great number of years, much as you seem to
dislike that phrase."

"New York! Oh, that is like saying you have lived in America and I have
lived in America. We might live for hundreds of years in New York and
never meet one another!"

"That is very true, except that the time is a little long."

"Then won't you tell me something about yourself?"

"No, I will not."

"Why?"

"Why? Well, if you will tell me why you have the right to ask such a
question, I shall answer why."

"Oh, if you talk of rights, I suppose I haven't the right. But I am
willing to tell you anything about myself. Now, a fair exchange, you
know--"

"But I don't wish to know anything about you."

"Oh, thank you."

George Morris's face clouded, and he sat silent for a few moments.

"I presume," he said again, "that you think me very impertinent?"

"Well, frankly, I do."

Morris gazed out at the sea, and Miss Earle opened the book which she
had brought with her, and began to read. After a while her companion
said--

"I think that you are a little too harsh with me, Miss Earle."

The young lady placed her finger between the leaves of the book and
closed it, looking up at him with a frank, calm expression in her dark
eyes, but said nothing.

"You see, it's like this. I said to you a little while since that I seem
to have known you before. Now, I'll tell you what I was thinking of when
you met me this morning. I was thinking what a curious thing it would be
if I had been acquainted with you some time during my past life, and had
forgotten you, while you had remembered me."

"That was very flattering to me," said the young lady; "I don't wonder
you laughed."

"That is why I did not wish to tell you what I had been thinking
of--just for fear that you would put a wrong construction on it--as you
have done. But now you can't say anything much harsher to me than you
have said, and so I tell you frankly just what I thought, and why I
asked you those questions which you seem to think are so impertinent.
Besides this, you know, a sea acquaintance is different from any
other acquaintance. As I said, the first time I spoke to you--or the
second--there is no one here to introduce us. On land, when a person is
introduced to another person, he does not say, 'Miss Earle, this is Mr.
Morris, who is a younger partner in the house of So-and-so.' He merely
says, 'Miss Earle, Mr. Morris,' and there it is. If you want to find
anything out about him you can ask your introducer or ask your friends,
and you can find out. Now, on shipboard it is entirely different.
Suppose, for instance, that I did not tell you who I am, and--if you
will pardon me for suggesting such an absurd supposition---imagine that
you wanted to find out, how could you do it?"

Miss Earle looked at him for a moment, and then she answered--

"I would ask that blonde young lady."

This reply was so utterly unexpected by Morris that he looked at her
with wide eyes, the picture of a man dumbfounded. At that moment the
smoking-room steward came up to them and said--

"Will you have your coffee now, sir?"

"Coffee!" cried Morris, as if he had never heard the word before.
"Coffee!"

"Yes," answered Miss Earle, sweetly, "we will have the coffee now, if
you please. You will have a cup with me, will you not, Mr. Morris?"

"Yes, I will, if it is not too much trouble."

"Oh, it is no trouble to me," said, the young lady; "some trouble to the
steward, but I believe even for him that it is not a trouble that cannot
be recompensed."

Morris sipped his coffee in silence. Every now and then Miss Earle stole
a quiet look at him, and apparently was waiting for him to again resume
the conversation. This he did not seem in a hurry to do. At last she
said--

"Mr. Morris, suppose we were on shipboard and that we had become
acquainted without the friendly intervention of an introducer,
and suppose, if such a supposition is at all within the bounds of
probability, that you wanted to find out something about me, how would
you go about it?"

"How would I go about it?"

"Yes. How?"

"I would go about it in what would be the worst possible way. I would
frankly ask you, and you would as frankly snub me."

"Suppose, then, while declining to tell you anything about myself I were
to refer you to somebody who would give you the information you desire,
would you take the opportunity of learning?"

"I would prefer to hear from yourself anything I desired to learn."

"Now, that is very nicely said, Mr. Morris, and you make me feel almost
sorry, for having spoken to you as I did. Still, if you really want to
find out something about me, I shall tell you some one whom you can ask,
and who will doubtless answer you."

"Who is that? The captain?"

"No. It is the same person to whom I should go if I wished to have
information of you--the blonde young lady."

"Do you mean to say you know her?" asked the astonished young man.

"I said nothing of the sort."

"Well, _do_ you know her?"

"No, I do not."

"Do you know her name?"

"No, I do not even know her name."

"Have you ever met her before you came on board this ship?"

"Yes, I have."

"Well, if that isn't the most astonishing thing I ever heard!"

"I don't see why it is. You say you thought you had met me before. As
you are a man no doubt you have forgotten it. I say I think I have met
that young lady before. As she is a woman I don't think she will have
forgotten. If you have any interest in the matter at all you might
inquire."

"I shall do nothing of the sort."

"Well, of course, I said I thought you hadn't very much interest. I only
supposed the case."

"It is not that I have not the interest, but it is that I prefer to go
to the person who can best answer my question if she chooses to do so.
If she doesn't choose to answer me, then I don't choose to learn."

"Now, I like that ever so much," said the young lady; "if you will get
me another cup of coffee I shall be exceedingly obliged to you. My
excuse is that these cups are very small, and the coffee is very good."

"I am sure you don't need any excuse," replied Morris, springing to his
feet, "and I am only too happy to be your steward without the hope of
the fee at the end of the voyage."

When he returned she said, "I think we had better stop the personal
conversation into which we have drifted. It isn't at all pleasant to
me, and I don't think it is very agreeable to you. Now, I intended this
morning to give you a lesson on American literature. I feel that you
need enlightening on the subject, and that you have neglected your
opportunities, as most New York men do, and so I thought you would be
glad of a lesson or two."

"I shall be very glad of it indeed. I don't know what our opportunities
are, but if most New York men are like me I imagine a great many of
them are in the same fix. We have very little time for the study of the
literature of any country."

"And perhaps very little inclination."

"Well, you know, Miss Earle, there is some excuse for a busy man. Don't
you think there is?"

"I don't think there is very much. Who in America is a busier man than
Mr. Gladstone? Yet he reads nearly everything, and is familiar with
almost any subject you can mention."

"Oh, Gladstone! Well, he is a man of a million. But you take the average
New York man. He is worried in business, and kept on the keen jump all
the year round. Then he has a vacation, say for a couple of weeks or a
month, in summer, and he goes off into the woods with his fishing kit,
or canoeing outfit, or his amateur photographic set, or whatever the
tools of his particular fad may be. He goes to a book-store and buys up
a lot of paper-covered novels. There is no use of buying an expensive
book, because he would spoil it before he gets back, and he would
be sure to leave it in some shanty. So he takes those paper-covered
abominations, and you will find torn copies of them scattered all
through the Adirondacks, and down the St. Lawrence, and everywhere else
that tourists congregate. I always tell the book-store man to give me
the worst lot of trash he has got, and he does. Now, what is that book
you have with you?"

"This is one of Mr. Howells' novels. You will admit, at least, that you
have heard of Howells, I suppose?"

"Heard of him? Oh yes; I have read some of Howells' books. I am not as
ignorant as you seem to think."

"What have you read of Mr. Howells'?"

"Well, I read 'The American,' I don't remember the others."

"'The American!' That is by Henry James."

"Is it? Well, I knew that it was by either Howells or James, I forgot
which. They didn't write a book together, did they?"

"Well, not that I know of. Why, the depth of your ignorance about
American literature is something appalling. You talk of it so jauntily
that you evidently have no idea of it yourself."

"I wish you would take me in hand, Miss Earle. Isn't there any sort of
condensed version that a person could get hold of? Couldn't you give
me a synopsis of what is written, so that I might post myself up in
literature without going to the trouble of reading the books?"

"The trouble! Oh, if that is the way you speak, then your case is
hopeless! I suspected it for some time, but now I am certain. The
trouble! The _delight_ of reading a new novel by Howells is something
that you evidently have not the remotest idea of. Why, I don't know what
I would give to have with me a novel of Howells' that I had not
read."

"Goodness gracious! You don't mean to say that you have read
_everything_ he has written?"

"Certainly I have, and I am reading one now that is coming out in the
magazine; and I don't know what I shall do if I am not able to get the
magazine when I go to Europe."

"Oh, you can get them over there right enough, and cheaper than you can
in America. They publish them over there."

"Do they? Well, I am glad to hear it."

"You see, there is something about American literature that you are
not acquainted with, the publication of our magazines in England,
for instance. Ah, there is the breakfast gong. Well, we will have to
postpone our lesson in literature until afterwards. Will you be up here
after breakfast?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Well, we will leave our chairs and rugs just where they are. I will
take your book down for you. Books have the habit of disappearing if
they are left around on shipboard."

After breakfast Mr. Morris went to the smoking-room to enjoy his cigar,
and there was challenged to a game of cards. He played one game; but his
mind was evidently not on his amusement, so he excused himself from any
further dissipation in that line, and walked out on deck. The promise
of the morning had been more than fulfilled in the day, and the warm
sunlight and mild air had brought on deck many who had not been visible
up to that time. There was a long row of muffled up figures on steamer
chairs, and the deck steward was kept busy hurrying here and there
attending to the wants of the passengers. Nearly every one had a book,
but many of the books were turned face downwards on the steamer rugs,
while the owners either talked to those next them, or gazed idly out at
the blue ocean. In the long and narrow open space between the chairs and
the bulwarks of the ship, the energetic pedestrians were walking up and
down.

At this stage of the voyage most of the passengers had found congenial
companions, and nearly everybody was acquainted with everybody else.
Morris walked along in front of the reclining passengers, scanning
each one eagerly to find the person he wanted, but she was not there.
Remembering then that the chairs had been on the other side of the
ship, he continued his walk around the wheel-house, and there he saw
Miss Earle, and sitting beside her was the blonde young lady talking
vivaciously, while Miss Earle listened.

Morris hesitated for a moment, but before he could turn back the young
lady sprang to her feet, and said--"Oh, Mr. Morris, am I sitting in
your chair?"

"What makes you think it is my chair?" asked that gentleman, not in the
most genial tone of voice.

"I thought so," replied the young lady, with a laugh, "because it was
near Miss Earle."

Miss Earle did not look at all pleased at this remark. She coloured
slightly, and, taking the open book from her lap, began to read.

"You are quite welcome to the chair," replied Morris, and the moment the
words were spoken he felt that somehow it was one of those things he
would rather have left unsaid, as far as Miss Earle was concerned. "I
beg that you will not disturb yourself," he continued; and, raising his
hat to the lady, he continued his walk.

A chance acquaintance joined him, changing his step to suit that of
Morris, and talked with him on the prospects of the next year being
a good business season in the United States. Morris answered rather
absent-mindedly, and it was nearly lunch-time before he had an
opportunity of going back to see whether or not Miss Earle's companion
had left. When he reached the spot where they had been sitting he found
things the very reverse of what he had hoped. Miss Earle's chair was
vacant, but her companion sat there, idly turning over the leaves of the
book that Miss Earle had been reading. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Morris?"
said the young woman, looking up at him with a winning smile. "Miss
Earle has gone to dress for lunch. I should do the same thing, but,
alas! I am too indolent."

Morris hesitated for a moment, and then sat down beside her.

"Why do you act so perfectly horrid to me?" asked the young lady,
closing the book sharply.

"I was not aware that I acted horridly to anybody," answered Morris.

"You know well enough that you have been trying your very best to avoid
me."

"I think you are mistaken. I seldom try to avoid any one, and I see no
reason why I should try to avoid you. Do you know of any reason?"

The young lady blushed and looked down at her book, whose leaves she
again began to turn.

"I thought," she said at last, "that you might have some feeling against
me, and I have no doubt you judge me very harshly. You never _did_ make
any allowances."

Morris gave a little laugh that was half a sneer.

"Allowances?" he said.

"Yes, allowances. You know you always were harsh with me, George,
always." And as she looked up at him her blue eyes were filled with
tears, and there was a quiver at the corner of her mouth. "What a
splendid actress you would make, Blanche," said the young man, calling
her by her name for the first time.

She gave him a quick look as he did so. "Actress!" she cried. "No one
was ever less an actress than I am, and you know that."

"Oh, well, what's the use of us talking? It's all right. We made a
little mistake, that's all, and people often make mistakes in this life,
don't they, Blanche?"

"Yes," sobbed that young lady, putting her dainty silk handkerchief to
her eyes.

"Now, for goodness sake," said the young man, "don't do that. People
will think I am scolding you, and certainly there is no one in this
world who has less right to scold you than I have."

"I thought," murmured the young lady, from behind her handkerchief,
"that we might at least be friends. I didn't think you could ever act so
harshly towards me as you have done for the past few days."

"Act?" cried the young man. "Bless me, I haven't acted one way or the
other. I simply haven't had the pleasure of meeting you till the other
evening, or morning, which ever it was. I have said nothing, and done
nothing. I don't see how I could be accused of acting, or of anything
else."

"I think," sobbed the young lady, "that you might at least have spoken
kindly to me."

"Good gracious!" cried Morris, starting up, "here comes Miss Earle. For
heaven's sake put up that handkerchief."

But Blanche merely sank her face lower in it, while silent sobs shook
her somewhat slender form.

Miss Earle stood for a moment amazed as she looked at Morris's flushed
face, and at the bowed head of the young lady beside him; then, without
a word, she turned and walked away.

"I wish to goodness," said Morris, harshly, "that if you are going to
have a fit of crying you would not have it on deck, and where people can
see you."

The young woman at once straightened up and flashed a look at him in
which there were no traces of her former emotion.

"People!" she said, scornfully. "Much _you_ care about people. It is
because Miss Katherine Earle saw me that you are annoyed. You are afraid
that it will interfere with your flirtation with her."

"Flirtation?"

"Yes, flirtation. Surely it can't be anything more serious?"

"Why should it not be something more serious?" asked Morris, very
coldly. The blue eyes opened wide in apparent astonishment.

"Would you _marry_ her?" she said, with telling emphasis upon the word.

"Why not?" he answered. "Any man might be proud to marry a lady like
Miss Earle."

"A lady! Much of a lady she is! Why, she is one of your own shop-girls.
You know it."

"Shop-girls?" cried Morris, in astonishment.

"Yes, shop-girls. You don't mean to say that she has concealed that fact
from you, or that you didn't know it by seeing her in the store?"

"A shop-girl in my store?" he murmured, bewildered. "I knew I had seen
her somewhere."

Blanche laughed a little irritating laugh.

"What a splendid item it would make for the society papers," she said.
"The junior partner marries one of his own shop-girls, or, worse still,
the junior partner and one of his shop-girls leave New York on the _City
of Buffalo_, and are married in England. I hope that the reporters will
not get the particulars of the affair." Then, rising, she left the
amazed young man to his thoughts.

George Morris saw nothing more of Miss Katherine Earle that day.

"I wonder what that vixen has said to her," he thought, as he turned in
for the night.


FIFTH DAY.

In the early morning of the fifth day out, George Morris paced the deck
alone.

"Shop-girl or not," he had said to himself, "Miss Katherine Earle is
much more of a lady than the other ever was." But as he paced the deck,
and as Miss Earle did not appear, he began to wonder more and more what
had been said to her in the long talk of yesterday forenoon. Meanwhile
Miss Earle sat in her own state-room thinking over the same subject.
Blanche had sweetly asked her for permission to sit down beside her.

"I know no ladies on board," she said, "and I think I have met you
before."

"Yes," answered Miss Earle, "I think we have met before."

"How good of you to have remembered me," said Blanche, kindly.

"I think," replied Miss Earle, "that it is more remarkable that you
should remember me than that I should remember you. Ladies very rarely
notice the shop-girls who wait upon them."

"You seemed so superior to your station," said Blanche, "that I could
not help remembering you, and could not help thinking what a pity it was
you had to be there."

"I do not think that there is anything either superior or inferior about
the station. It is quite as honourable, or dishonourable, which ever it
may be, as any other branch of business. I cannot see, for instance, why
my station, selling ribbons at retail, should be any more dishonourable
than the station of the head of the firm, who merely does on a very
large scale what I was trying to do for him on a very limited scale."

"Still," said Blanche, with a yawn, "people do not all look upon it in
exactly that light."

"Hardly any two persons look on any one thing in the same light. I hope
you have enjoyed your voyage so far?"

"I have not enjoyed it very much," replied the young lady with a sigh.

"I am sorry to hear that. I presume your father has been ill most of the
way?"

"My father?" cried the other, looking at her questioner.

"Yes, I did not see him at the table since the first day."

"Oh, he has had to keep his room almost since we left. He is a very poor
sailor."

"Then that must make your voyage rather unpleasant?"

The blonde young lady made no reply, but, taking up the book which Miss
Earle was reading, said, "You don't find Mr. Morris much of a reader, I
presume? He used not to be."

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