The Girl on the Boat | Page 8

as indeed he did.
"Hullo!" he said, in a hollow voice.
Sam regarded him blankly. He had not seen him for some years, but,
going by his recollections of him at the University, he had expected
something cheerier than this. In fact, he had rather been relying on
Eustace to be the life and soul of the party. The man sitting on the bag
before him could hardly have filled that role at a gathering of Russian
novelists.
"What on earth's the matter?" said Sam.
"The matter?" Eustace Hignett laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, nothing.
Nothing much. Nothing to signify. Only my heart's broken." He eyed
with considerable malignity the bottle of water in the rack above his
head, a harmless object provided by the White Star Company for
clients who might desire to clean their teeth during the voyage.
"If you would care to hear the story...?" he said.
"Go ahead."
"It is quite short."
"That's good."
"Soon after I arrived in America, I met a girl...."
"Talking of girls," said Sam with enthusiasm, "I've just seen the only

one in the world that really amounts to anything. It was like this. I was
shoving my way through the mob on the dock, when suddenly...."
"Shall I tell you my story, or will you tell yours?"
"Oh, sorry! Go ahead."
Eustace Hignett scowled at the printed notice on the wall, informing
occupants of the state-room that the name of their steward was J. B.
Midgeley.
"She was an extraordinarily pretty girl...."
"So was mine! I give you my honest word I never in all my life saw
such...."
"Of course, if you prefer that I postponed my narrative?" said Eustace
coldly.
"Oh, sorry! Carry on."
"She was an extraordinarily pretty girl...."
"What was her name?"
"Wilhelmina Bennett. She was an extraordinarily pretty girl, and highly
intelligent. I read her all my poems, and she appreciated them
immensely. She enjoyed my singing. My conversation appeared to
interest her. She admired my...."
"I see. You made a hit. Now get on with the story."
"Don't bustle me," said Eustace querulously.
"Well, you know, the voyage only takes eight days."
"I've forgotten where I was."
"You were saying what a devil of a chap she thought you. What

happened? I suppose, when you actually came to propose, you found
she was engaged to some other johnny?"
"Not at all! I asked her to be my wife and she consented. We both
agreed that a quiet wedding was what we wanted--she thought her
father might stop the thing if he knew, and I was dashed sure my
mother would--so we decided to get married without telling anybody.
By now," said Eustace, with a morose glance at the porthole, "I ought
to have been on my honeymoon. Everything was settled. I had the
licence and the parson's fee. I had been breaking in a new tie for the
wedding."
"And then you quarrelled?"
"Nothing of the kind. I wish you would stop trying to tell me the story.
I'm telling you. What happened was this: somehow--I can't make out
how--mother found out. And then, of course, it was all over. She
stopped the thing."
Sam was indignant. He thoroughly disliked his Aunt Adeline, and his
cousin's meek subservience to her revolted him.
"Stopped it? I suppose she said 'Now, Eustace, you mustn't!' and you
said 'Very well, mother!' and scratched the fixture?"
"She didn't say a word. She never has said a word. As far as that goes,
she might never have heard anything about the marriage."
"Then how do you mean she stopped it?"
"She pinched my trousers!"
"Pinched your trousers!"
Eustace groaned. "All of them! The whole bally lot! She gets up long
before I do, and she must have come into my room and cleaned it out
while I was asleep. When I woke up and started to dress, I couldn't find
a single damned pair of bags in the whole place. I looked everywhere.

Finally, I went into the sitting-room where she was writing letters and
asked if she had happened to see any anywhere. She said she had sent
them all to be pressed. She said she knew I never went out in the
mornings--I don't as a rule--and they would be back at lunch-time. A
fat lot of use that was! I had to be at the church at eleven. Well, I told
her I had a most important engagement with a man at eleven, and she
wanted to know what it was, and I tried to think of something, but it
sounded pretty feeble, and she said I had better telephone to the man
and put it off. I did it, too. Rang up the first number in the book and
told some fellow I had never seen in my life that