“Well, I didn’t know what might happen. If one should be shipwrecked——” I caught her frightened gaze out an open port, perfectly aware myself of the swift weather change.
“There is nothing like dressing the part of the shipwrecked,” said I. “For myself, these same flannels will do.”
“Pshaw!” said young L’Olonnois, “suppose she does pitch a little—it ain’t any worse’n on the Mauretania when we went across. I ain’t scared, are you, John?”
“No,” replied Jean Lafitte shyly. He was almost overawed with the ladies. But I liked the look of his eye now.
“She’s not as big as the Mauretania,” said Helena, fixing L’Olonnois’ collar for him.
“I’m sure she’s going to roll horribly,” added Aunt Lucinda. “And if I should be seasick, with my neuralgia, I’m sure I don’t know what I should do.”
“I know!” remarked L’Olonnois; and Helena promptly dropped her hand over his mouth.
“Let us not think of storm and shipwreck,” said I, “at least until they come. I want to ask your attention to John’s imitation of Luigi’s oysters à la marinière. The oysters are of our own catching this morning. For, you must know, the water hereabout is very shallow, and is full of oysters.”
“You said full of sharks,” corrected Aunt Lucinda.
“Did I? I meant oysters.” And I helped her to some from the dumb-waiter and uncorked the very last bottle of the ninety-three left in the case. “And as for this storm of which you speak, ladies,” I added as I poured, “I would there might come every day as ill a wind if it would blow me as great a good as yourselves for luncheon.”