The Wings of the Morning | Page 3

in the second saloon tonight," and he hustled
his subordinate away from the judge's chair.
Miss Deane, mirthfully radiant, rose.
"Please don't punish the man, Mr. Jones," she said sweetly. "It was a
sheer accident. He was taken by surprise. In his place I would have
emptied the whole dish."
The chief steward smirked. He did not know exactly what had
happened; nevertheless, great though Sir John Tozer might be, the
owner's daughter was greater.
"Certainly, miss, certainly," he agreed, adding confidentially:--"It is

rather hard on a steward to be sent aft, miss. It makes such a difference
in the--er--the little gratuities given by the passengers."
The girl was tactful. She smiled comprehension at the official and bent
over Sir John, now carefully polishing the back of his skull with a table
napkin.
"I am sure you will forgive him," she whispered. "I can't say why, but
the poor fellow was looking so intently at me that he did not see what
he was doing."
The ex-Chief Justice was instantly mollified. He did not mind the
application of ice in that way--rather liked it, in fact--probably ice was
susceptible to the fire in Miss Deane's eyes.
Lady Tozer was not so easily appeased. When Iris left the saloon she
inquired tartly: "How is it, John, that Government makes a shipowner a
baronet and a Chief Justice only a knight?"
"That question would provide an interesting subject for debate at the
Carlton, my dear," he replied with equal asperity.
Suddenly the passengers still seated experienced a prolonged sinking
sensation, as if the vessel had been converted into a gigantic lift. They
were pressed hard into their chairs, which creaked and tried to swing
round on their pivots. As the ship yielded stiffly to the sea a whiff of
spray dashed through an open port.
"There," snapped her ladyship, "I knew we should run into a storm, yet
Captain Ross led us to believe---- John, take me to my cabin at once."
From the promenade deck the listless groups watched the rapid advance
of the gale. There was mournful speculation upon the Sirdar's chances
of reaching Singapore before the next evening.
"We had two hundred and ninety-eight miles to do at noon," said
Experience. "If the wind and sea catch us on the port bow the ship will
pitch awfully. Half the time the screw will be racing. I once made this

trip in the Sumatra, and we were struck by a south-east typhoon in this
locality. How long do you think it was before we dropped anchor in
Singapore harbor?"
No one hazarded a guess.
"Three days!" Experience was solemnly pompous. "Three whole days.
They were like three years. By Jove! I never want to see another gale
like that."
A timid lady ventured to say--
"Perhaps this may not be a typhoon. It may only be a little bit of a
storm."
Her sex saved her from a jeer. Experience gloomily shook his head.
"The barometer resists your plea," he said. "I fear there will be a good
many empty saddles in the saloon at dinner."
The lady smiled weakly. It was a feeble joke at the best. "You think we
are in for a sort of marine steeple-chase?" she asked.
"Well, thank Heaven, I had a good lunch," sniggered a rosy-faced
subaltern, and a ripple of laughter greeted his enthusiasm.
Iris stood somewhat apart from the speakers. The wind had freshened
and her hat was tied closely over her ears. She leaned against the
taffrail, enjoying the cool breeze after hours of sultry heat. The sky was
cloudless yet, but there was a queer tinge of burnished copper in the
all-pervading sunshine. The sea was coldly blue. The life had gone out
of it. It was no longer inviting and translucent. That morning, were
such a thing practicable, she would have gladly dived into its crystal
depths and disported herself like a frolicsome mermaid. Now
something akin to repulsion came with the fanciful remembrance.
Long sullen undulations swept noiselessly past the ship. Once, after a
steady climb up a rolling hill of water, the Sirdar quickly pecked at the

succeeding valley, and the propeller gave a couple of angry flaps on the
surface, whilst a tremor ran through the stout iron rails on which the
girl's arms rested.
The crew were busy too. Squads of Lascars raced about, industriously
obedient to the short shrill whistling of jemadars and quartermasters.
Boat lashings were tested and tightened, canvas awnings stretched
across the deck forward, ventilator cowls twisted to new angles, and
hatches clamped down over the wooden gratings that covered the holds.
Officers, spotless in white linen, flitted quietly to and fro. When the
watch was changed. Iris noted that the "chief" appeared in an old blue
suit and carried oilskins over his arm