“Don’t worry,” Dail said. “Rooney married my wife’s sister. He owes his position to that relationship and to me.”
“I want to make certain there won’t be any misunderstanding with Rooney,” Mason insisted.
“There won’t be,” Dail assured him.
As Mason reached for the knob of the door, Celinda Dail said, “Don’t you think, Father, it would be well to have some time limit with Mr. Mason? Some time within which he’d make you a definite offer?”
“Yes,” Dail said instantly. “Let’s put a time limit on this. Mason.”
“Unfortunately,” Mason assured him, smiling at Celinda Dail, “that is impossible. I will have to both send and receive wireless messages before I’m in a position to make any definite offer.”
“But you think you can do so before the ship docks?” Dail asked.
“I hope to be able to do so before the ship docks,” Mason said, opening the door.
Mason dressed for dinner, strolled into the cocktail lounge and found Mrs. Moar seated at a corner table.
“Well,” he said, raising his voice for the benefit of any passenger who might be listening, “while you’re waiting for your family may I invite you to join me in a cocktail?”