I thought of the man tearing along with the evening papers, the upsetting of Brooks, and the fussy lady and gentleman who had insisted on brushing me down. I saw it all now—a carefully prepared plan!
Then I roared with laughter, much to the astonishment of Ethel and St.
Nivel.
"They've had all their trouble for nothing," I gasped, simply stamping with delight; "the silly fools have got nothing!" But I was wrong; they had got my brand new cigar case given me by Ethel with my initials on it and full of St. Nivel's best Havannahs, placed there by her own fair hands for the railway journey.
CHAPTER XI
THE OCEANA
Very thankful were my two cousins and I when we got clear of the fogs of the Mersey and were fairly out at sea. Not that we were bad sailors. We did not proclaim that we were, at any rate, though I will admit that for the first two days I found my comfortable brass bedstead a resting-place much more to my liking than a seat at the dinner-table, although I duly turned up there for the sake of appearances. During this period of seclusion I thought deeply of the latest attempt of my enemies to secure the casket, and it caused me great uneasiness. I could not imagine how they knew that I should go to my lawyers for it.
Ethel made a brave show, but it was quite the third day out from Liverpool before I saw her smile as I wished to see her smile—without a mental reservation, in fact.
St. Nivel was really the only perfectly unconcerned member of our party, and it was through his persevering attendances on the promenade deck, that I became acquainted with a young lady who will figure largely in these pages, although she in reality was by no means of commanding stature, but one of those charming petite persons whose mission in life appears to be to exemplify what extraordinarily choice pieces of human goods can be made up in small parcels.
It was on the fourth day out that I became acquainted with Dolores d'Alta. While I had been lying disconsolately on my cot, St. Nivel had been improving the shining hour by looking after Miss Dolores, who had taken up her position, during the first few days of her trial, in a sheltered position on the promenade deck, in preference to her "stuffy cabin," as she called her state room.
It had been the pleasure, and had become the duty—a self-imposed one—of St. Nivel to see that she was properly wrapped up.