So Philip got him into his berth. There was soon no occasion for Gerald to blush. Not a few of the other passengers promptly found out the rolling of the Old Province. They sought the seclusion which their cabins granted. The fog thickened. The steamer slackened up and plowed along at half-speed, blowing her hoarse fog-whistle. Philip went alone to supper.
He found only two thirds of those on board, besides some of the steamer’s officers, scattered about the tables. As he sat down the captain, hurrying by, suddenly turned toward him.
“Is your little messmate under the weather?” he asked, abruptly, but not unkindly.
“Yes, sir.”
“In his berth? Quite the best place for him! Your brother, I suppose? No? H’m! I’ll try to have a little talk with you both later.”
With which Captain Widgins walked away, leaving Touchtone decidedly surprised at this unexpected attentiveness, which he set down to the rather public style in which he and Gerald had come aboard.
He had to concentrate all his faculties on his unsteady plate. At last he pushed back his chair and wiped away the water dashed out of his glass into his face as he tried to secure a parting swallow. He looked across to a remote table. Two gentlemen sat there; a pillar partially hid them. But one of them was now in full sight and staring at him.
Philip nearly let fall his napkin. Those frank eyes of his met the now impudent dark ones of the “Mr. Hilliard” of Youngwood. As he looked at the man, asking himself if he were not deceived, “Mr. Hilliard” bowed politely to him, and then went on sipping his tea.
Philip told Gerald—a long time afterward—that once he had cut in two with his scythe a black snake coiled about a nest of unfledged cat-birds in a bush, evidently making up its mind which to devour first.
“I assure you the snake and that man looked exactly alike!” was Philip’s comparison.