Away he went, just as good-natured as could be, calling back for me to keep his seat for him. I laid my parasol on it, and kept my hand on that; but a minute after came a great heathen of a fellow and attempted to take the stool.
"It is engaged," says I, pressing down my hand.
"What of that?" says he, jerking the stool away, and throwing my parasol on to the floor. "Every one for himself, and no favors."
I was blue as indigo before that. At another time this creature would have riled me into a tempest, but now I felt more like crying. But there he sat, plump on the stool, looking as self-contented as if butter would not melt in his mouth.
Dempster came back. I looked up longingly. His hands were empty.
"I am very sorry," says he, "but there isn't a peach on board."
Well, there I sat, with the sun pouring down on me, while E. E. read the illustrated papers, and that child made herself generally numerous among the passengers. After awhile I got up to look over the side of the vessel, when that horrid wretch snatched up my seat and carried it off, looking back at me and laughing.
I said nothing—what was the use?—but leaned against the cabin-door, holding my satchel, the most forlorn creature you ever saw. Just then some one spoke to me. I looked round. It was a roly-poly, oldish woman, who spread considerably over her chair, and held a travelling-basket on her lap. She had found an empty stool, and asked me to take it.
I sat down while she smiled blandly upon me.
"Never mind that fellow," says she. "Some men are born animals of one kind or another, so let them go."