Even if Miss Lentz was out of sight, this other person, or another, might be watching the movements of the passengers. Ruth did not, therefore, speak to the ship’s first officer in the saloon. She waited until she could meet him quite casually on deck, and later in the forenoon watch.
Dowd was a man not too old to be influenced and flattered by the attentions of a bright young woman like Ruth Fielding. He was interested in her story, too, for the Red Cross officer had not been chary of spreading the tale of Ruth’s courage and her work in the first cabin.
“May I hope the shoulder and arm are mending nicely, Miss Fielding?” Mr. Dowd said, smiling at her as she met him face to face near the starboard bridge ladder.
“Hope just as hard as you can, Mr. Dowd,” she replied merrily. “Yes, I want all my friends to will that the shoulder will get well in quick time. I haven’t the natural patience of the born invalid.”
He laughed in return, and turned to get into step with her as she walked the deck.
“You lack the air of the invalid, that is true. Remember, I have had much to do with invalids in the time past. Although now we do not see many of the people who used to think there was something the matter with them, and whose physicians sent them on a sea voyage to get rid of them for a while.”
“Yet you do have some queer folks aboard, even in war time, don’t you?” she asked.
“Why, bless you!” said the Englishman, “everybody is more or less queer—‘save thee and me.’ You know the story of the Quaker?”
“Surely,” rejoined Ruth. “But now I suppose most of your queer passengers may be spies, or something like that.”
She said it in so low a tone that nobody but the first officer could possibly hear. He gave her a quick glance.