“Cleigh, when I spin this yarn some day I’ll carry you through it as the man who never batted an eye. I can see now how you must have bluffed Wall Street out of its boots.”
When Cunningham saw that Jane was distrait 180 he made no attempt to pull her out of it. He ate his dinner, commenting only occasionally. Still, he bade her a cheery good-night as he returned to the chart house, where he stayed continually, never quite certain what old Captain Newton might do to the wheel and the compass if left alone too long.
Dennison came in immediately after Cunningham’s departure and contritely apologized to Jane for his rudeness.
“I suppose I’m on the rack; nerves all raw; tearing me to pieces to sit down and twiddle my thumbs. Will you forgive me?”
“Of course I will! I understand. You are all anxious about me. Theoretically, this yacht is a volcano, and you’re trying to keep me from kicking off the lid. But I’ve an idea that the lid will stay on tightly if we make believe we are Mr. Cunningham’s guests. But it is almost impossible to suspect that anything is wrong. Whenever a member of the crew comes in sight he is properly polite, just as he would be on a liner. If I do go to the bridge again I’ll give you warning. Good-night, Mr. Cleigh, I’ll read to you in the morning. Good-night—Denny.”
Cleigh, sighing contentedly, dipped his fingers into the finger bowl and brushed his lips.
The son drank a cup of coffee hastily, lit his 181 pipe, and went on deck. He proceeded directly to the chart house.
“Cunningham, I’ll swallow my pride and ask a favour of you.”
“Ah!”—in a neutral tone.
“The cook tells me that all the wine and liquor are in the dry-stores compartment. Will you open it and let me chuck the stuff overboard?”