But the girl of the Red Mill seldom forgot anything she learned well. She had not used the German language as much as she had French. Nevertheless she remembered quite clearly what she had learned of it.
The seaman who was talking so excitedly to Irma Lentz, and whom Ruth overheard on the deck of the Admiral Pekhard, used Low German instead of the High German taught in the educational institutions. Ruth, however, understood quite a little of what was said.
“Stop talking to me!” Miss Lentz commanded, breaking in upon what the man was saying.
“I must tell you, Fraulein——”
“Go tell Boldig. Not me. How dare you speak to a passenger? You know it is against all ship rules.”
“Undt am I de goat yedt?” growled the man, in anger and in atrocious English, as the young woman swept past him. Then in his own tongue—and this time Ruth understood him clearly—he added: “Am I to work in that fireroom while you and Boldig live softly? What would become of me if anything should happen?”
Fortunately the woman did not come Ruth’s way. She whisked out of sight just as the tramp of a smart footstep was heard along the deck. An officer came into sight.
“Here, my man, this is no part of the deck for you,” he said sharply. “Stoker, aren’t you? Get back to your quarters.”
The flaxen-haired man stumbled away. He almost ran, it seemed, to get out of sight. The officer passed Ruth Fielding, bowing to her politely, but did not halt.
The girl of the Red Mill was greatly disturbed by what she had seen and overheard. Yet she was not sure that she should speak to anybody about the incident. She let the officer go on without a word. She found a chair on a part of the deck that had already been swabbed down, and she sat there to think and to watch the first sunbeams play upon the wire rigging of the ship and upon the dancing waves.