“It’s none of my business, of course, Spurrier,” came the advising voice quietly. “But the Beverlys have engaged passage on the Empress. If I were you, I’d drop a formal note of gratitude and leave the rest until you meet them aboard.”
After a moment’s thought the other nodded. “I’ll 25 follow that suggestion. It may be less embarrassing for—them.”
“The other fellows are going to send a sort of a hamper down to the boat. There won’t be any cards, but you’ll know that a spirit of Godspeed goes with the stirrup cup.”
For an instant Spurrier looked puzzled and the major, whose note of embarrassment had been growing until it seemed to choke him, now spluttered and sought to bury his confusion under a forced paroxysm of coughing.
Then impulsively he thrust out his hand and gripped that of the man of whom just now he could remember only gallant things; soldierly qualities and gently bred charm.
“In a fashion, Jack, you must shake hands with all of them through me. I come as their proxy. They can’t give you a blowout, you know. They can’t even come to see you off. I can say what I like now. The papers aren’t signed up yet, but afterward—well, you know! Damn it, I forget the exact words that the Articles of War employ—about an officer who goes out—this way.”
“Don’t bother, major. I get your meaning.” Spurrier took the proffered hand in both his own. “No officer can give me social recognition. I believe the official words are that I shall be ‘deemed ignominious.’ Tell the boys I understand.”
On the sailing day John Spurrier, whose engagingly bold eyes had not yet learned to evade the challenge of any glance, timed his arrival on board almost as surreptitiously as a stowaway. It was from behind the closed door of his own stateroom that he listened 26 to the deck commotion of laughter and leave-taking and heard, when the whistle had shrieked its warning to shore-going visitors, the grind of anchor chain on winch and windlass.
That evening he dined in an inconspicuous corner by arrangement with the dining-saloon steward, and bolted his meal with nervous haste.
From afar, as he had stood in a companionway, he had glimpsed a panama-hatted girl—a girl who did not see him, and who had shown only between the shifting heads and shoulders of the crowd. He could not have told even had he been closer whether her gloved left hand still wore upon its third finger the ring that he had put there—before things had happened.