"If the old tub will float. I'll watch over these infants, if that's your worry. Good-bye."
The doctor went down the side to the waiting sampan, which at once set out for the Sha-mien. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness. She was quite assured that she would never see him again.
"Yon's a dear man," said McClintock. His natal burr was always in evidence when he was sentimentally affected. He knocked his pipe on the teak rail. "Took a great fancy to you. Wants me to look out for you a bit. I take it, down where we're going will be nothing new to you. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player."
"Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?"
"No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. Plays Beethoven, Rubenstein and all those chaps. I'm a bit daffy about music."
"That sounds funny … to play it with your feet!"
McClintock laughed. "It's a pump, like an organ."
"Oh, I see. What a wonderful world it is!" Music. She shuddered.
"Ay. Well, I'll be getting this tub under way."
Ruth walked to the companion. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. She went down, feeling rather than seeing the way. The door of cabin 2 was open. Someone had thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb.