In a Steamer Chair | Page 5

that at last he was cornered, and the fiendish
young ladies began literally, as the slang phrase is, to mop the deck
with him. He felt himself being slowly pushed back and forward across
the deck, and he wondered how long he would last if this treatment
were kept up. By and by he found himself lying still in his bunk, and
the swish, swish above him of the men scrubbing the deck in the early
morning showed him his dream had merged into reality. He
remembered then that it was the custom of the smoking-room steward
to bring a large silver pot of fragrant coffee early every morning and
place it on the table of the smoking-room. Morris also recollected that
on former voyages that early morning coffee had always tasted
particularly good. It was grateful and comforting, as the advertisement
has it. Shortly after, Mr. Morris was on the wet deck, which the men
were still scrubbing with the slow, measured swish, swish of the brush
he had heard earlier in the morning. No rain was falling, but everything
had a rainy look. At first he could see only a short distance from the
ship. The clouds appeared to have come down on the water, where they
hung, lowering. There was no evidence that such a thing as a sun
existed. The waves rolled out of this watery mist with an oily look, and
the air was so damp and chilly that it made Morris shiver as he looked
out on the dreary prospect. He thrust his hands deep into his coat
pockets, which seemed to be an indolent habit of his, and walked along
the slippery deck to search for the smoking-room. He was thinking of
his curious and troublesome dream, when around the corner came the
brunette, wrapped in a long cloak that covered her from head to foot.
The cloak had a couple of side pockets set angleways in front, after the
manner of the pockets in ulsters. In these pockets Miss Earle's hands
were placed, and she walked the deck with a certain independent
manner which Mr. Morris remembered that he disliked. She seemed to
be about to pass him without recognition, when the young man took off
his cap and said pleasantly, "Good morning, Miss Earle. You are a very
early riser."
"The habit of years," answered that young lady, "is not broken by
merely coming on board ship."

Mr. Morris changed step and walked beside her.
"The habit of years?" he said. "Why, you speak as if you were an old
woman."
"I am an old woman," replied the girl, "in everything but one
particular."
"And that particular," said her companion, "is the very important one, I
imagine, of years."
"I don't know why that is so very important."
"Oh, you will think so in after life, I assure you. I speak as a veteran
myself."
The young lady gave him a quick side glance with her black eyes from
under the hood that almost concealed her face.
"You say you are a veteran," she answered, "but you don't think so. It
would offend you very deeply to be called old."
"Oh, I don't know about that. I think such a remark is offensive only
when there is truth in it. A young fellow slaps his companion on the
shoulder and calls him 'old man.' The grey-haired veteran always
addresses his elderly friend as 'my boy.'"
"Under which category do you think you come, then?"
"Well, I don't come under either exactly. I am sort of on the middle
ground. I sometimes feel very old. In fact, to confess to you, I never felt
older in my life than I did yesterday. Today I am a great deal younger."
"Dear me," replied the young lady, "I am sorry to hear that."
"Sorry!" echoed her companion; "I don't see why you should be sorry.
It is said that every one rejoices in the misfortunes of others, but it is
rather unusual to hear them admit it."

"It is because of my sympathy for others that I am sorry to hear you are
younger today than you were yesterday. If you take to running along
the deck today then the results will be disastrous and I think you owe it
to your fellow passengers to send the steward with his gong ahead of
you so as to give people in steamer chairs warning."
"Miss Earle," said the young man, "I thought you had forgiven me for
yesterday. I am sure I apologised very humbly, and am willing to
apologise again to-day."
"Did I forgive you? I had forgotten?"
"But you remembered the fault. I am afraid that is misplaced
forgetfulness. The truth is, I imagine, you are very unforgiving."
"My friends do not think so."
"Then