The Honorable Percival. Alice Caldwell Hegan Rice

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СКАЧАТЬ dare, as I think you call it?" he asked. "You'll have to excuse me, Miss Boynton. Sight-seeing is quite out of my line."

      He watched the gay party board the launch, Mrs. Weston, the two girls, and the college boys whose raucous voices and offhand manners had grated upon him ever since leaving San Francisco. As the small boat got away from the steamer, one white-clad figure separated itself suddenly from the rest, and waved a friendly hand to him. He started, then, lifting his cap stiffly, moved away from the rail. The little minx was pretty; in fact, he acknowledged for the first time that she was distractingly pretty. But she was also presuming, and presumption was a thing he would permit in no one.

      For the next few hours Percival found life not worth living. He sat on the hot deck in solitary state, gloved in white chamois, with a newspaper over his white-clad knees, engaged in the forlorn hope of trying to keep clean while the ship was coaling. Finding this an impossibility, he took refuge in the deserted-writing-room, where all the port-holes were closed and the air as dead as that of an Egyptian tomb.

      Satirical letters home were Percival's chief diversion. In them he expressed his unqualified disapproval of the Western Hemisphere. The assurance that they would be read by an adoring group of feminine relatives gave wing to an imagination that was not wont to soar. Today, however, inspiration was lacking. On opening the drawer of the first desk he came to, he found a letter half begun which had evidently been thrust there suddenly and forgotten. Across the top of the page was written:

      "My darling H——"

      Percival closed the drawer hurriedly. The conjunction of the letter H with that particular adjective started echoes. He circled the room in search of a desk not haunted by epistolatory ghosts.

      "Particularly asinine brand of pen!" he exclaimed in disgust. "Must have been used for a corkscrew!"

      Corkscrews changed the current of his thought into a more pleasant channel. But even the mild consolation thus suggested was denied him. The smoking-room was closed. He wandered disconsolately to his state-room and, flinging himself on the narrow sofa, stared at the ceiling. Every fiber of his being shrieked for England and for the revivifying warmth of adulation.

      His mind dwelt longingly upon Hascombe Hall and the acres of parkland, moorland, and farmland that were its inheritance. Then he thought bitterly upon that paragon of perfection who had caused his banishment. How completely she would have filled the rôle of mistress of that noble hall! He pictured her in irreproachable toilets, pouring tea in the east drawing-room, and receiving her guests with the exact shade of warmth that their social positions demanded.

      As he recalled her manner of cool distinction and her polished, impersonal phrases, another feminine figure dared to flit between him and this lady of manifold merit. No sooner would he indignantly banish her image than she would come dancing back, a gay little figure, with too much color in her checks and too much daring in her eyes.

      "Why don't you let yourself have a good time?" she had asked, and the question repeated itself now with maddening insistence. Was he, who had always had everything, now missing something—something that other people had?

      When two bells sounded he reluctantly went below for lunch. The prospect of a tête-à-tête with the captain was anything but pleasant. He understood about half that the officer said, and with that half he usually disagreed. His first remark was unfortunate:

      "All this dirt means more washing down of the decks, I suppose. Beastly racket it makes. Is there any earthly reason why it should always be done at dawn?"

      "Most one-sidedly," said the captain; "it gives the sailors a chance to see the sunrise."

      There was a short silence, then Percival asked:

      "What's the name of that young South American who went ashore with your daughter?"

      "South American?" repeated the captain. "I pass."

      "The blatant youth who sits at your left."

      "Oh, you mean Vaughn. He's no South American. He hails from Virginia."

      "Thought he said he was a Southerner. May I trouble you for the mustard?"

      "Did the Daughter of the Revolution go along?" asked the captain.

      "Beg pardon?"

      "Mrs. Weston. She's a D.A.R. She has told me so five times; that's how I know."

      "Really, why was she chosen to be the Daughter of the Regiment?"

      "The Revolution, not the regiment. You remember that little skirmish that took place in '75?"

      Percival considered this thrust beneath his notice. His simmering antagonism for the captain was nearing the boiling-point.

      "I say," he said, "will you kindly arrange for a bit of air to enter this room? It's ghastly, perfectly ghastly."

      "Sure," said the captain, dexterously mixing a salad of alligator pears. "Ah Foo, open some of those ports and let in the coal-dust. Have some of this tropical mess?"

      "Thanks, no. I'm not specially fit today. Had a beastly night of it. Fancy having to keep one's umbrella up in the berth to keep the light from the passage out of one's eyes! I don't believe such a thing could happen on a British steamer. Can't you manage to give me another state-room?"

      "That's the purser's job; he's the room-clerk," said the captain. "I'm only the skipper."

      Percival glanced quickly at the weather-beaten face, but found no guiding expression.

      "I can't say I found your purser over-civil," he went on. "He insists on putting another passenger in my state-room. Nothing was said about it in San Francisco, nothing whatever. I shall report the matter at my first opportunity."

      "I bet you've drawn that Chinese bigwig that's booked from here," said the captain, grinning.

      Percival pushed back his plate. A German or an American had appalled him, but a Chinaman!

      "I say, this is a bit thick, you know. What time does the next launch go ashore?" he demanded, with, a fierce determination to find the purser and demand satisfaction.

      "About to start now," said the captain, adding, with a twinkle: "Better think twice about that Chinaman. If he takes the upper berth, his queue'd come in mighty handy to hang your umbrella on."

      Percival dashed up the stairs. He had been seeking an excuse for going ashore for the last four hours, and now he felt that he had one. It was of the utmost importance, he assured himself, that he see the purser without further delay.

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