"Jones, get off," he shouted, "and don't hold us up longer than you need."
"Aye, aye, sir," answered the dancing sailor, who wished he could have heard what had been said.
"As to taking orders from me, yes, from now onwards. Breakfast is at nine," and he gave her back her arm and turned away.
Beatrix put her hand over her mouth to gag a scream of anger. But she would make him pay for this, with the other debts. She would indeed. If Mr. Jones couldn't be worked upon again, there were the first officer and the Captain,—and they, unlike this cold-blooded bully, were men.
XXIX
It had been a queer day for Franklin.
Beginning with anger it gradually led him into a dozen other emotions,—a reluctant admiration for the cunning way in which Beatrix had been going to take advantage of Horatio Jones; amusement when she didn't appear for breakfast and he thought that she was sulking; loneliness when tea-time came and there was still no sign of her; finally fright, sheer, honest fright when he discovered at sun-down that she had not rung for the stewardess during the whole of the day.
He sent for the stewardess. "Why do you suppose Mrs. Franklin hasn't needed you?" he asked.
"I don't know, I'm sure, sir." The woman was evidently worried too. She fingered her apron nervously.
"When were you in her room last?"