The Destroyer: A Tale of International Intrigue

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

SHIPMATES

When Dan got back to the hotel for lunch, he found that there had been many arrivals during the morning. The Adriatic was to sail that afternoon, as well as the Ottilie, and the long dining-room at the hotel was a busy place. As the head-waiter led him to a seat, he caught a glimpse, far off, of the girl of the morning. She was sitting at a table with a white-haired man—her father, of course—with whom she was talking earnestly. She did not look up, and, in another instant, Dan's guide had pulled out a chair, and he found himself sitting with his back toward the only person in the room who interested him.

He told himself this deliberately, after a glance at his neighbours; and then, in the next moment, he called himself a cad, for every human-being is interesting, once you get below the skin. But degrees of interest vary, and Dan felt that he had never met any one who promised so much as this outspoken girl, with the shining eyes and sensitive mouth. Which boat was she sailing by, he wondered? It was an even chance that, like himself, she would be on the Ottilie. Yes—but second class? That would be asking too much of Fortune! Let it be added here that Dan was returning in the second-cabin not because—as he was to hear so many times on that voyage!—there was no room in the first, but because by doing so, he had saved the money for an extra week of travel.

He found more arrivals in the office when he left the table, and a formidable array of baggage, which was presently loaded on vans and trundled away toward the waiting tender. He paid his bill, collected the two suit-cases which constituted his total impedimenta, saw them safely off for the pier, tipped the porter, and left the hotel. The whistle of the tender was blowing shrilly, and, when he reached the pier, he saw far out at sea the smudge of smoke against the sky, which told that one of the steamers was approaching. He boarded the tender, assured a medical inspector that he was an American citizen and so did not need to have his eyes examined, dug his suit-cases out of the pile of luggage, and found himself a seat near the bow of the boat. Presently the special boat-train rolled in along the pier and disgorged the final quota of passengers.

Ten minutes later, with a shrill toot, the tender backed away and headed out across the harbour. With a queer feeling, half of sorrow, half of joy, Dan looked back at the receding shore, telling himself that the next soil his feet touched would be that of America.

A mile out, the great liner lay waiting, impressively huge as seen from the deck of the little tender, and presently they were alongside and filing through an open port. A steward grabbed his suit-cases, the instant he was on board, asked the number of his room, led him to it along interminable passages, and left him to make himself at home.

There were two berths in it, and, as he had paid for only one of them, he knew that, at this crowded season, he could scarcely hope to have the whole room to himself. But there was as yet no sign of any other occupant, so Dan, thrusting his bags under the lower berth, went on deck again. The last of the baggage and mail was being lifted aboard by a block and tackle, worked by a donkey engine, and, even as Dan looked, the tender tooted its whistle, cast loose, and backed away, and suddenly beneath his feet Dan felt the quiver which told that the screws had started. Slowly the great ship swung around and headed away into the west toward the setting sun—and toward "the land of freedom." How that phrase was running in his head!

He made a little tour of that portion of the boat set aside for passengers of the second class, and realised that the frugal Germans were much less generous in their provision for those humble ones than was the English line on which he had come to Europe. There the second class was well amidships, with a deck-room almost equal to that given the aristocrats at the bow. Here the second class was at the very stern, and the deck-room was limited indeed. Of course, Dan told himself, the Ottilie was a crack boat, designed to cater to the most exclusive trade; but he looked forward at the long stretches set apart for the first cabin with a little envy.

The boat was crowded, but he saw nothing of the black-haired girl, and finally, after finding that there was no hope of getting a deck-chair, he sought the dining-room steward, got his table-ticket, and made his way back to his stateroom. But on the threshold he paused. A man was lying in the upper berth, the light at his head turned on and a paper in his hand. He raised his head and looked down, at the sound of the door, and Dan had the impression of a bronzed countenance lighted by a pair of very brilliant eyes.

"Ah," said a pleasant voice, "so this is my shipmate," and the stranger swung his legs over the side of the berth and dropped lightly to the floor. Again Dan had the impression of the bright eyes upon him.