“Let me take care of it, Betty!” he cried hoarsely, taking her hand.
“Please, George,” she said, smiling, as she rose.
“Betty!” He clung to her hand.
With swift, confident strength she drew her hand free, lifting him slightly from his chair in doing so.
“You’ll excuse me now, won’t you?” she said, and went to her room.
Chanler flung himself back in his chair, laughing harshly.
“Did you see that—did you see it, Gardy?” he said, as he pressed the bell. “She doesn’t care if I do own this yacht. I’m nothing to her. Oh, what a rotten trip this is going to be!”
“Chanler,” I said, “sit still for a minute and listen. You have got to pull yourself together. You have got to straighten out this mess. You have got to show Miss Baldwin that you are the man she is hoping to find in you. Buck up, man! Her hopes are pinned on you. She cares. Do you think she would have come this far if she didn’t care? She has done her share; she’s here. Now, for her sake, do your share. Pull yourself together and be the man she has been hoping all this time she would find you.”
“Hooray!” he whispered mockingly. “Go on, Gardy; you’re the boy who can say things. King’s peg,” he said to the steward who had come in.
“Wait!” I said. The man stopped. “Chanler, you’ve been overdoing it. You’re not yourself. You’ve done things that aren’t done; you’ve got to sober up and straighten them out.”