“It is allotted to Sir Eustace Pedler,” said Mr. Pagett.
We were all getting rather heated.
“I’m sorry to have to dispute the matter,” said Chichester with a meek smile which failed to mask his determination to get his own way. Meek men are always obstinate, I have noticed.
He edged himself sideways into the doorway.
“You’re to have No. 28 on the port side,” said the steward. “A very good cabin, sir.”
“I am afraid that I must insist. No. 17 was the cabin promised to me.”
We had come to an impasse. Each one of us was determined not to give way. Strictly speaking, I, at any rate, might have retired from the contest and eased matters by offering to accept Cabin 28. So long as I did not have 13 it was immaterial to me what other cabin I had. But my blood was up. I had not the least intention of being the first to give way. And I disliked Chichester. He had false teeth which clicked when he ate. Many men have been hated for less.
We all said the same things over again. The steward assured us, even more strongly, that both the other cabins were better cabins. None of us paid any attention to him.
Pagett began to lose his temper. Chichester kept his serenely. With an effort I also kept mine. And still none of us would give way an inch.
A wink and a whispered word from the steward gave me my cue. I faded unobtrusively from the scene. I was lucky enough to encounter the purser almost immediately.