"N-no, oh, no."
The Westwood's clerk made a sign to Captain Courteney. The captain glanced up to Watson, and the two boats, still at full speed, began to draw sidewise together. But Ramsey's liveliest interest was in the Westwood's crew, who, far below about her capstan, were paying their compliments to the newer, larger, speedier boat in song and refrain with stately wavings and dippings of ragged hats and naked black arms. Now the boats' guards almost touched and their commanders spoke so quietly together that she did not hear their words. But she noted the regretful air with which John Courteney shook his head to the Westwood's clerk and then to the passenger, and the Westwood began again to drop behind. Hugh came near, paused, and glanced around.
"Looking for the commodore?" she asked.
"I thought you went down with Mrs. Gilmore," he replied, "to rehearse your part in the play."
"Commodore's down on the lower deck," she said; "freight deck—with mom-a—and the bishop."
Hugh showed astonishment. "The bishop?"
"Yes, mom-a made him go." She laughed. "Some of the sick folks down there are Protestants and were threatening to turn Catholic. Is anybody sick aboard the Westwood?"
"No."
"Then where's her captain?"
Hugh made no reply but to meet her steady gaze with his own till she asked in a subdued voice: "Cholera?"