Oh, no; he had done nothing—merely helped one of the crew pull the two men up over the rail and upon the deck. It was a tall, blue-eyed chap, the big fellow with the hearty laugh, you know, the one who is everlastingly tramping the deck—he’s the boy who gets the medal. Why, he sprang right over the rail, depended solely on the grip of his hand to hold himself from sliding overboard!
“Back aft, you know,” he explained, “the vessel bulges out like a flattened cylinder. There’s a little foot-walk on the top of the cylinder with a bit of rope on each side. The foot-walk’s quite safe, you know; but one step over and you’re on a smooth, round slide. A man might hold on if he’d lie flat and if the boat didn’t jolly well wobble. But it does wobble, you know; up and down with the rollers and then a side shake or two; and, besides, it’s wet back there from the spray and all that. Not much of a lark to try to hold your own on that bit of tin.
“I was standing against the rail,” he went on, “just off there, where our deck stops. A man and a woman were quarrelling around the corner of the house. I couldn’t see them, of course, and I couldn’t hear all they said, but they were having high words, the man was, rather, I should say. Well, the man’s voice stopped. I heard the woman call after him. She seemed to be begging him not to do something or other. I couldn’t get it. Then she screamed. She screamed twice. Quite startling, you know. Not loud, but—penetrating. Went quite through one. Of course I——”
Mrs. Wells interrupted. The man’s leisurely style irritated her. She suggested, good-humouredly, of course, that he might shorten the melodrama and get to the tragedy.
“Quite so,” he agreed; “but this is the first act, you know. Quite necessary, I assure you. For if the lady hadn’t screamed I—well, I might have seen the chap drive out aft and topple half over. Of course, I did see him, you know. What I mean to say——”
“Prompter badly needed,” remarked Mrs. Wells grimly. She had not relished the Englishman’s quiet turn of her theatric figure of speech.
“Prompter?” he inquired blandly. “The lady called and, being a gentleman, I ran to her assistance. Nothing could have been prompter.” The Americans, who love a pun, applauded, but the Englishman went on as if he had not scored. “She was calling to someone and pointing aft. Then I saw the man. He had got down among the life-rafts and had stumbled over something or other. He lay sprawled out on the deck. I started after, of course, although I saw no reason to hasten. Between the life-rafts it is perfectly safe. It’s just beyond where the trouble begins. Then I saw the big chap. He was lugging it up the ladder and calling, ‘Hi! Come back!’ The first chap, the chap who had stumbled, he got himself up and ran farther aft, and for a second it seemed like a race. But the vessel lurched badly, or something, and the first chap—I hope I am clear—the first chap smashed up against the ropes. The impact carried his leg over. You could count five while he slowly turned up and on top and then began to fall over that rope rail to the deck, you know.
“Of course all this happened while one might say Jack Robinson; but it seemed to me he was devilish leisurely—the first chap, I mean—in getting over that hand-rail. Good thing, too. The second chap, the big chap, was coming full steam ahead, charging like mad. He needed every second and he knew it, so he put one hand on the rail, gripped it, swung over, came smash against the sliding body of the first chap, and pinned him against the deck. And there he swung, with an arm and a leg around the other chap, hanging by one hand to that blooming, sagging rope. He’s the medaller. I? Like a silly ass, I stood there watching it all and let the woman pass me. She was on them like a shot. Strong ’un she is; she had them both fairly well up before the sailor chap and I could lend her a lift. I hope I’ve made it all clear, but I fear I have mussed it up. Rather beastly thing, you know, two men dangling over the side and the old ship tossing like a mad bull!”
The Englishman was an effective narrator after all. His quietness; his hesitations—he puffed on a pipe during the recital—and his child-like candour gave a horrid suggestion of reality to his picture.
By this time Geraldine had recovered sufficiently to watch her mother. Mrs. Wells’ swift mind had visualized the scene; she saw the deck rise and fall and the two men hanging over the depths. The horror of the thing was on her face, Geraldine noted, but there was no suspicion of Walter.