“Pajamas?”
“Yes, and lots of other things.”
Jude tilted back the old panama she was wearing and took her seat on the portmanteau. Her feet were bare, and she twisted her toes in thought as she sat for a moment turning matters over in her mind.
“You can stick the things in the spare locker,” said she at last. “You gonna have a gay old time if you keep this in the cabin, tumblin’ over it. Better empty her here an’ cart the stuff below.”
“Right!” said Ratcliffe. “But what shall I do with the portmanteau when it’s empty?”
“Heave her overboard,” said Jude.
“Shut your head!” said Tyler, suddenly cutting in. “What you talkin’ about? Heave yourself overboard!” Then to Ratcliffe, “She’s right, all the same; there’s no room for luggage. If you’ll help Jude to get the things below, I’ll look after the trunk. When you’ve done with the cruise you can get a bag to hold your things.”
Ratcliffe opened the portmanteau. The steward of the Dryad was an expert: in a past existence he had probably been a pack rat. In any given space he could have tucked away half as much again as any other ordinary mortal. But he certainly had no imagination, or perhaps he had been too busy to cast his eye overboard and see the manner of craft Ratcliffe was joining, and Ratcliffe had been far too much exercised in his mind about Skelton to notice what was being packed.
Jude on her knees helped.
“What’s this?” asked Jude, coming on a black satin lining.