I opened it with such courage as I had; and the instant I set eyes on the man I knew that he was Colonel Corkran. He was born to be a retired colonel. What came before the retiring could have been but a prelude. A stout figure of middle height; red face, veined on cheeks and nose; pale blue eyes which looked as if they had faded in the wash; purple moustache and eyebrows; close-cropped gray hair; a double chin clamouring for extra collar space; and a bridge-player's expression. This was the rival whose place I had virtually, though not officially, usurped.
I was prepared to hear him hiss "Viper!" between his teeth, as characters in melodramatic serials do to perfection, their front teeth having doubtless been designed for such purposes. But his look seemed to denote pity rather than hatred. So might a prison-warder regard a condemned man, in coming to announce the hour of execution.
"Lord Ernest Borrow?" said he, in a slightly hoarse voice. "I'm Colonel Corkran. Delighted to meet you. I've met your brother, Lord Killeena. Daresay he wouldn't remember me. I don't think I can begin better than by thanking you for coming to take over my job."
"Oh, I haven't done that!" I hastened to protest, as he sat fatly down in a chair I pushed forward. "As I understand, I'm to take a few people off your hands, and the hands of your assistant, Mr. Kruger, so that you can go to Palestine instead of leaving that important excursion entirely to the chaplain, Mr. Watts."
Colonel Corkran laughed. "Thank you for trying to save my feelings," said he. "But I assure you they're not hurt. I'm sincerely delighted to see you—for my own sake. For yours—well, that's another pair of shoes! My dear fellow, I wonder if you've the smallest idea what you're in for?"
"In for?" I echoed.
"Yes. I'm saying this as a friend. Don't think I'm jealous. Lord, no! I look on you as a deliverer. And don't think I want to frighten you. It isn't that. But I feel it's my duty to prepare you. I might have got on better if there'd been some one to do the same by me. There wasn't. Kruger, my so-called assistant, is a spy. At best, he's a mere accountant, not supposed to look after the passengers socially. I gather that he was some secretary of Lark's. Beware of him. He writes to Lark from every port. As for the passengers, the saintly lot are bad enough. Yet it's only the food and the cabins and the attendance they grumble about. I'm shunted off the worldly lot onto them in future. But at their worst, they'll be a rest-cure! and Lark has the decency not to reduce my screw. It's the worldly lot that's going to make you curse the day you were born."
He wanted me to speak, or groan; but I maintained a stricken silence, to which I gave some illusion of dignity. After a disappointed pause he went on: "You'd better know something about these people. Beasts, every one of 'em, young or old, some beastly common beasts, but all beastly rich, except those that are beastly poor, and on the make—to marry their daughters, or cadge for smart friends. Lark was bidding for swells, and got snobs. Thinks his silly title will carry weight in society as it does in the city. 'Lark Pie,' we're called, I hear. I call us a 'Pretty Kettle of Fish!' The girls are the worst of the caboodle, though some of 'em aren't bad looking. You won't believe the trouble I've had with the creatures till you begin to get the same yourself."
"What kind of trouble?" I inquired gingerly.
"Every kind a woman can make. Apart from food troubles, they think they're not being entertained enough on board; think I ought to get up more dances; tango teas I suppose! Don't like the way I organize games; are mad because they can't have music at meals—which they can't because the band's all stewards; blame me because the men don't make love to them, or because they do. And at the hotels where we go on shore, it's Hades. Naturally the people staying in the hotels resent us. They look on us as a menagerie—a rabble. So we are. At least, they are. I don't count myself in with them. What can I do? I'm not omnipotent. Perhaps you are. Anyhow, they're prepared to believe it, for you're a new broom—a broom with a fine handle. I'm only a poor colonel with a few medals given by my country for services that were appreciated. You're brother to a marquis."