"Mind you don't talk that way in the stoke-hold, or they might take you at your word and keep you down there."
"No danger of that, captain," laughed Mrs. Stuart. "The professor's only theorizing, you know. It costs nothing to expound theory. He has no idea of exchanging places with the stokers."
The commander guffawed loudly, and, with a parting salute to the ladies, turned on his heel and disappeared up the companionway. At that moment the Hon. Percy Fitzhugh came up, the inevitable monocle in his eye.
"Oh, I say, Miss Harmon," he began, with his affected English drawl. "Be my partner at shuffleboard, eh, what?"
Mrs. Stuart, irritated at an invitation which ignored her, answered for her ward:
"Miss Harmon has more serious things to attend to. Don't come disturbing us with your idiotic games. We are intellectual here—talking socialism, cannibals, wireless, stoke-holds, and such things. If you can't be intellectual, keep away."
"Mr. Fitzhugh," said Grace, laughing, "you promised to take me down to the stoke-hold. Suppose we all go now?"
Mr. Fitzhugh beamed. The beautiful one had actually deigned to ask him a favor. Overcome with emotion, he stuttered his reply:
"Delighted, of course. It'll be jolly good sport to see the beggars hard at work down there. I'll let the shuffleboard go hang. Come, we'll go and see the chief engineer, eh, what?"
He assisted Grace and Mrs. Stuart to their feet, and, followed by the professor, they all made their way to Mr. Wetherbee's cabin.