Charlie Cleveland strolled in at this juncture. He had his right arm in a sling.
"Hullo!" he said. "How are you all? I'm on the sick-list to-day. I sprained my wrist when I fell up the steps yesterday."
Fisher glanced at him for a moment over the top of his magazine and resumed his reading in silence.
"Look here, my friend!" he said. "You were in the thick of this engine business. I am sure of it."
"I was," said Charlie readily. "But for me you would all be at the bottom of the sea by this time."
He threw himself into a chair with a broad grin at Major Granville's contemptuous countenance and took up a book.
Major Granville looked intensely disgusted. It was scarcely credible that a passenger could have penetrated to the engine-room and interfered with the machinery there, yet he more than half believed that this outrageous thing had actually occurred. He got up after a brief silence and stalked stiffly from the saloon.
Charlie banged down his book with a yell of laughter.
"Didn't I tell you, Fisher?" he cried. "He's gone to have a good, square, face-to-face talk with the captain. But he won't get anything out of him. I've been there first."
He went up on deck and found a party of quoit-players. Molly Erle was among them. Charlie stood and watched, yelling advice and encouragement.