“Honest Quaker!” he rejoined. “I’ve much admiration for him. It’s the way we all feel. To me all mankind is deliciously comic, all except me—and I’m a little comic.”
Far off towards the stern of the boat someone uttered a cry. It sounded at first like the gulls, which were beginning now to follow the boat. But it was repeated with a clear human suggestion. Mrs. Wells, with eyes contentedly closed, heard nothing. Richard had performed his office well; she was cheered and heartened. So he deftly tucked in a stray corner of the rug and slipped quietly away. Far off he had seen Geraldine, her face in agony.
Fortunately the majority of the passengers had gone down to early dinner. The deck was free as he sped forward at full speed.
“Quick!” she called to him. “There! Walter! Oh, quick! quick!”
The stern of the boat was narrow and almost cylindrical, like the hull of a tank steamer. Only a hand-rail and a life-saving raft or two gave any protection against sliding off into the sea. Stumbling over the odds and ends of ship machinery usually lashed down here, Walter was making his way to the extreme end of the boat. His unsteady gait and his occasional sprawl at full length told the story.
“The rest of my cognac!” thought Richard, as he leaped to the deck below, ran across a space full of dismantled derricks and winches, and clambered up the ladder which brought him back again to Walter’s level.
“Hi!” Richard called commandingly. “Come out of that!”
He called to gain time. At the call, Walter steadied himself on a life-raft and slowly turned himself about.
When he saw Richard climbing over a railing he waved a hand and shook his head.
“Sta’ back!” he demanded thickly. “Going to stop whole business. Sta’ back, I say. She wo’ let me ’lone. Tol’ her I’d do it. ’N’ will do it. Sta’ back!” he screamed. “Do y’ hear me! Damn y’ soul, I tell y’, sta’ back!”