The Wings of the Morning | Page 3

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 as he climbed to the bridge.
Nature looked disturbed and fitful, and the ship responded to her mood. There was a sense of preparation in the air, of coming ordeal, of restless foreboding. Chains clanked with a noise the girl never noticed before; the tramp of hurrying men on the hurricane deck overhead sounded heavy and hollow. There was a squeaking of chairs that was abominable when people gathered up books and wraps and staggered ungracefully towards the companion-way. Altogether Miss Deane was not wholly pleased with the