The sailing-master appeared at the door, his cap in his hand.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said respectfully, “but I fear it’s impossible to put back. We can’t turn without getting into the trough of the sea.”
“All right, go ahead then,” said Mitchell; “go where we must go, and do what you’ve got to do. My motto is veni, vidi, vici, which freely translated means I can sleep asea when I can’t sleep ashore.”
“But Aunt Mary?” cried Jack blankly.
“She’s all right,” said Mitchell; “she’ll soon reach the cold burnt toast stage and when she reaches the stage we’ll all welcome her into any chorus. Here’s to choruses in general and one chorus girl in particular. I haven’t met her yet, but I shall know her when I do, for she will look at me. Up to now they’ve all looked elsewhere and at other men. If my fortune was only in my face it might draw some interest, but—”
“Lady Belle” careened violently and Clover went over backwards for the second time with much in his wake.
“Oh, I say,” said Mitchell, rising in disgust, “if you want everything on the table at once why take it. Only I’m going on deck. After you’ve bathed in the gravy you can have it. Ditto the other liquids. Jack and I are going up to dance a hornpipe and sing for Burnett. He looked rather ennuyéd to me when we came down.”
Along toward eight o’clock that night “Lady Belle” anchored somewhere in the Sound and tugged vigorously at her cables all night.
With the dawn she headed back towards New York.
“As a success my entertainment has been a failure,” said Mitchell to Jack as they walked up and down the deck after breakfast; “but into each life some rain must fall, and I offer myself as a sacrificial background to Aunt Mary’s glowing, living pictures of New York.”