“It would do no end of good,” said Captain Trigger, without taking his eyes from the chattering mass below.
Mr. Codge, the purser, joined them.
“What are they waiting for?” he asked. “Why don't they call the meeting to order?”
“They did that half an hour ago,” said Mr. Mott. “Good Lord, man, can't you hear them talking? Have you no ears at all?”
“But they're all talking at once.”
“And why shouldn't they?” demanded the First Officer. “It's their meeting, isn't it?”
“I met Miss Clinton as I was coming up. She was going to her room. I asked her how the meeting was getting along. I don't believe she understood me, because all she said was 'good-night.'”
“I guess she understood you, all right,” said Mr. Mott, again sniffing the air. “Seems to me it's getting a little nearer, Captain Trigger. There's a little breeze coming up, too.”
“A good thunder-storm,—” began the Captain, musingly, but failed to complete the sentence.
“Would settle something besides the dust,” said Mr. Codge, after a deferential wait of a few seconds.