The Captain of the Kansas | Page 3

wide-awake here. My quarters are farther aft. I think I can find a chair for you if you care to sit down while I have my tea."
The captain led the way to a spacious cabin behind the chart-house.
"I hope you don't mind the chairs being secured to the deck," he said, taking off his hat. "So far above sea line, you know, everything that is loose comes to grief when the ship rolls."
"Then what becomes of your photographs?" demanded Isobel, promptly, her quick eyes having discovered the pictures of two ladies in silver frames on a writing-table.
"I take care to put them away. There is always plenty of warning. No ordinary sea can trouble a big hulk like the Kansas."
"Is that your mother, the dear old lady in the lace cap?"
"Yes, and the other is my sister."
"Oh, really! Is she married?"
"No. Like me, she is wedded to her profession."
"Will you think it rude if I ask what that is?"
"She is a hospital nurse; the matron, indeed, of a public institution in the suburbs of London."
"How wonderful! I do admire hospital nurses so much. They are so clever and self-sacrificing, and they always have a smile on their sweet faces. Only dad wouldn't hear of such a thing, I should love to be a nurse myself."
And Isobel sighed, dropped her long eyelashes, and examined the toe of a smart brown shoe with a wistful resignation. Courtenay was politely incredulous, but the arrival of the steward with the replenished tea-tray created a diversion.
"Do let me pour your tea," cried Isobel. "I make lovely tea, don't I, Elsie?"
Elsie laughed so cheerfully that Isobel flashed an interrogatory glance at her. Certainly, the notion of Isobel Baring claiming the domestic virtues was amusing. But Elsie answered at once:
"I know few things that you cannot do admirably, dear."
So Isobel filled a cup, asked if Captain Courtenay took milk and sugar, and said demurely, with a sip of a spoonful:
"Let me see if I can guess your tastes."
Elsie's blue eyes assumed a deeper shade. Men might like that kind of thing, but she felt that her face and neck would be poppy red in another moment. Thus far she had not addressed a word to Courtenay, though by his manner he had included her in the conversation. She now resolved to break in on the attack which Isobel was beginning with the adroitness of a skilled campaigner. And she, too, could use her eyes to advantage when she chose.
"What a curious library you have, Captain Courtenay," she said, looking, not at him, but at a row of books fitting closely into a small case over the writing-table. Instantly the sailor was interested.
"Why 'curious,' Miss Maxwell?" he asked.
"First, in their assortment; secondly, in the similarity of their binding. I have never before seen the Bible, Walt Whitman, and Dumas in covers exactly alike."
"That is easily explained. They are bound to order. My real trouble was to secure editions of equal size--an essential, you see--otherwise they would not pack into their shelf."
"But what a gathering! Shakespeare, the Pilgrim's Progress, Montaigne's Essays, Herbert Spencer, Goethe's Life, by Lewes, Marcus Aurelius, Martial, Wordsworth, The Egoist, Thoreau, Hazlitt, and Mitford's Tales of Old Japan! Where have I heard or read of that particular galaxy of stars before?"
"Go on. You are on the right track," cried Courtenay, setting down the teacup and hastening to Elsie's side. She was leaning on the table, reading the titles of the books. The motive of her exclamation was merged now in the fine ardor of the book-lover. She had an unconscious trick of placing the forefinger of her right hand on her lips when deeply engaged in thought. Elegant as Isobel Baring might be in her studied poses, Elsie need fear no comparison as she examined the contents of the bookcase with eager attention.
"Why the Vicomte de Bragelonne only, and not the Three Musketeers?" she mused aloud. "And if the Life of Goethe, why not his poems, his essays, Werther?--Ah, I know--'the crowning offence of Werther.' A Stevenson library! Each volume he recommends in 'Books which have influenced men,' I suppose? What a charming idea! I shall never forgive myself for not having thought of it long ago."
Courtenay laughed and blushed like any schoolgirl. Elsie's appreciation had a downright, honest ring in it that went far beyond the platitudes. She accorded him the ready comradeship of a kin soul.
"Many people have been surprised by my collection; you are the first to discover its inspiration," he said.
"That is not strange. There are so few who read. Reading means discerning, interpreting. I am a worshiper of R. L. S., but I have been shocked to find that for a hundred who can talk glibly of his novels there is hardly one who has communed with him in his essays."
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