“That’s true. As I was to have a bonus, you know, on the year, my salary was small, and I got rid of it easily enough.”
“Cards!” she supplemented; “oh, of course. My dear Owen, I’m afraid you are hopeless!”
“Yes, I suppose it’s hereditary! After the day’s work there was nothing to do. All the other chaps gambled, and I could not stand with my hands in my pockets looking on; so I learnt the good old native game of ‘Truco,’ but I had no luck—and lost my dollars.”
“And after your arrival at Buenos Ayres in the cattle-train, what happened?”
“Well, naturally, I had no spare cash to spend in that little Paris: the Calle Florida, and the Café Florian, and Palermo Park, saw nothing of me, much less the magnificent Jockey Club. I searched about for a cast home! I was determined to get back to the Old Country, for I knew I’d do no good out there—I mean in Buenos Ayres; so I went down to the Digue, where the big liners lie, and cadged for a job. I believe they are pretty sick of chaps asking for a lift home, and I had some difficulty in getting a berth; but, after waiting several days, I got hold of a captain to listen to me. I offered to stoke.”
“Owen!”
“Yes; but he said, ‘You look like a stoker, don’t you? Why, you’re a gentleman! You couldn’t stand the engine-room for an hour. However, as I see you are not proud and they are short of hands in the stewards’ pantry, they might take you on to wash plates.’”
Lady Kesters made no remark; her expression was sufficiently eloquent.
“‘All right,’ I agreed, ‘I’ll do my little best.’ So I was made over to the head steward. We carried a full number of passengers that trip, and, when one of the saloon waiters fell sick, I was promoted into his place, as I was clean and civil. Needless to say, I was thankful to get away from the horrors of greasy plates and the fag of cleaning knives. I can wait pretty well, the ladies liked me—yes, and I liked them—and when we docked at Southampton yesterday, Owen, as they called me, received nearly six pounds in tips, not to speak of a steamer chair and a white umbrella!”
As he concluded, he walked over to the fire and stood with his back to it. His sister surveyed him reflectively; she was thinking how impossible it was to realise that her well-bred, smart-looking brother, in his admirably cut clothes, and air of easy self-possession, had, within twenty-four hours, been a steward at the beck and call of the passengers on a liner. However, all she said was—