The Girl on the Boat | Page 7

heart had been lying empty, all

swept and garnished, with "Welcome" on the mat. This girl seemed to
rush in and fill it. She was not the prettiest girl he had ever seen. She
was the third prettiest. He had an orderly mind, one capable of
classifying and docketing girls. But there was a subtle something about
her, a sort of how-shall-one-put-it, which he had never encountered
before. He swallowed convulsively. His well-developed chest swelled
beneath its covering of blue flannel and invisible stripe. At last, he told
himself, he was in love, really in love, and at first sight, too, which
made it all the more impressive. He doubted whether in the whole
course of history anything like this had ever happened before to
anybody. Oh, to clasp this girl to him and....
But she had bitten him in the arm. That was hardly the right spirit. That,
he felt, constituted an obstacle.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she cried.
Well, of course, if she regretted her rash act.... After all, an impulsive
girl might bite a man in the arm in the excitement of the moment and
still have a sweet, womanly nature....
"The crowd seems to make Pinky-Boodles so nervous."
Sam might have remained mystified, but at this juncture there
proceeded from a bundle of rugs in the neighbourhood of the girl's
lower ribs, a sharp yapping sound, of such a calibre as to be plainly
audible over the confused noise of Mamies who were telling Sadies to
be sure and write, of Bills who were instructing Dicks to look up old
Joe in Paris and give him their best, and of all the fruit-boys,
candy-boys, magazine-boys, American-flag-boys, and telegraph boys
who were honking their wares on every side.
"I hope he didn't hurt you much. You're the third person he's bitten
to-day." She kissed the animal in a loving and congratulatory way on
the tip of his black nose. "Not counting waiters at the hotel, of course,"
she added. And then she was swept from him in the crowd, and he was
left thinking of all the things he might have said--all those graceful,
witty, ingratiating things which just make a bit of difference on these

occasions.
He had said nothing. Not a sound, exclusive of the first sharp yowl of
pain, had proceeded from him. He had just goggled. A rotten exhibition!
Perhaps he would never see this girl again. She looked the sort of girl
who comes to see friends off and doesn't sail herself. And what
memory of him would she retain? She would mix him up with the time
when she went to visit the deaf-and-dumb hospital.
§ 2
Sam reached the gang-plank, showed his ticket, and made his way
through the crowd of passengers, passengers' friends, stewards, junior
officers, and sailors who infested the deck. He proceeded down the
main companion-way, through a rich smell of india-rubber and mixed
pickles, as far as the dining saloon; then turned down the narrow
passage leading to his state-room.
State-rooms on ocean liners are curious things. When you see them on
the chart in the passenger-office, with the gentlemanly clerk drawing
rings round them in pencil, they seem so vast that you get the
impression that, after stowing away all your trunks, you will have room
left over to do a bit of entertaining--possibly an informal dance or
something. When you go on board, you find that the place has shrunk
to the dimensions of an undersized cupboard in which it would be
impossible to swing a cat. And then, about the second day out, it
suddenly expands again. For one reason or another the necessity for
swinging cats does not arise, and you find yourself quite comfortable.
Sam, balancing himself on the narrow, projecting ledge which the chart
in the passenger-office had grandiloquently described as a lounge,
began to feel the depression which marks the second phase. He almost
wished now that he had not been so energetic in having his room
changed in order to enjoy the company of his cousin Eustace. It was
going to be a tight fit. Eustace's bag was already in the cabin, and it
seemed to take up the entire fairway. Still, after all, Eustace was a good
sort, and would be a cheerful companion. And Sam realised that if the
girl with the red hair was not a passenger on the boat, he was going to

have need of diverting society.
A footstep sounded in the passage outside. The door opened.
"Hullo, Eustace!" said Sam.
Eustace Hignett nodded listlessly, sat down on his bag, and emitted a
deep sigh. He was a small, fragile-looking young man with a pale,
intellectual face. Dark hair fell in a sweep over his forehead. He looked
like a man who would write vers libre,