The Stowaway Girl | Page 8

was no just cause or impediment why he should not admire a
pretty girl when he saw one, and an exceedingly pretty girl had honored
him with her company during a brief minute of the previous day.
He was superintending the safe disposal of the last batch of cotton
goods in the forward hold--and had just found it necessary to explain
the correct principles of stowage with sailor-like fluency--when a
young lady, accompanied by a dock laborer carrying a leather
portmanteau, spoke to him from the quay.
"Is Captain Coke on board?" said she.
"No, madam," said he, lifting his cap with one hand, and restraining the
clanking of a steam windlass with the other.
"I am Mr. Verity's niece, and I wish to send this parcel to Monte
Video--may I put it in some place where it will be safe?" said she.
Hoping that the rattling winch had drowned his earlier remarks--which
were couched in an lingua franca of the high seas--he began to tell her
that it would give him the utmost pleasure to take charge of it on her

account, but she nodded, bade the porter follow, ran along a somewhat
precarious gangway, and was on deck before he could offer any
assistance.
"You are Mr. Hozier, I suppose?" said Iris, gazing with frank brown
eyes into his frank blue ones. She, of course, was severely
self-possessed; he, as is the way of mere man, grew more confused
each instant.
"Well, I will just pop the bag into Captain Coke's stateroom, and leave
this note with it. I have explained everything fully. I wrote a line in
case he might be absent."
All of which was so strictly accurate that it served its purpose
admirably, though the said purpose, it is regrettable to state, was the
misleading and utter bamboozling of Philip Hozier. Miss Iris Yorke
knew quite well that Captain Coke was then closeted with David Verity
in Exchange Buildings; she knew, because she had watched him pass
through the big swing doors of her uncle's office. She also knew,
having made it her business to find out, that in fifteen minutes, or less,
the crew would muster in the fo'c'sle for their mid-day meal. Not
having heard a word of Hozier's free speech to the gentlemen of various
nationalities at the bottom of the hold, she wondered why he was
blushing.
"Shall I show you the way?" asked Philip, finding his tongue.
"No, thank you. I have been on board the Andromeda many times. Ah,
Peter, I see you. What is it to-day, scouse or lobscouse?"
"Scouse, miss," said the ship's cook, grinning widely at her recollection
of the line drawn by both his patrons and himself between ship's biscuit
stewed with fresh meat and the same article flavored with salt junk.
Peter's recognition placed Iris's identity beyond doubt. She said nothing
more to Hozier, but tripped up the companionway. Soon he saw her
paying the man who had carried the portmanteau. She herself seemed
to be in no hurry. She walked to the rails beneath the bridge, and found

interest in watching the loading operations, which were resumed as
soon as the second officer saw that his services were not wanted. Time
was pressing, and a good deal yet remained to be done.
Mr. Watts, the chief officer, who was called ashore by urgent business
five minutes after the "old man" left the vessel, chose this awkward
moment to appear from behind a bonded warehouse. He was walking
with unnatural steadiness, so Hozier made some excuse to meet him
and whisper that the owner's niece was on board.
"Sun's zhot," remarked Mr. Watts cheerfully.
"Go and lie down for a spell," suggested Hozier, and Mr. Watts thought
it was a "shpiffin' idee." When Hozier was free to glance a second time
at the cross rail, Iris had vanished. He was annoyed. Evidently she did
not wish to encounter any more of the ship's officers that morning.
The hatches were on, and everything was orderly before Coke's squat
figure climbed the gangway. Hozier reported the young lady's visit, and
the skipper was obviously surprised. As he hoisted himself up the steep
ladder to the hurricane deck, the younger man heard him condemning
someone under his breath as "a leery old beggar." The phrase was
hardly applicable to Iris, but Coke came out of his cabin with an open
letter in his hand, and bade a steward stow the portmeanteau in some
other more hallowed and less inconvenient place.
And there the incident ended. The Andromeda hauled down the Blue
Peter for her long run of over 6,000 miles to Monte Video, and Hozier
had routine work in plenty to occupy his mind during the first
twenty-four hours at sea without perplexing it with memories of a
pretty