“Huh, mebbe an hour; an’ another hour for the home trip. He’ll be aboard for tea.”
Boyle uttered that concluding statement a trifle too airily. Elsie, for the first time in her life, knew what it meant to want to scream aloud.
The dog was dancing about excitedly, and whining without cease. She stooped and took him up in her arms.
“Please, Joey, be quiet,” she murmured, her voice breaking with a stifled sob. She turned again to Mr. Boyle, who sedulously avoided her eyes.
“Did Captain Courtenay leave any message for me?” she demanded.
“Huh! Message! Why, he will be away only a couple of hours.”
The chief officer’s tone was gruff, conveying the idea that women asked silly questions, but his gruffness did not hoodwink Elsie. He had prepared his replies beforehand.
“Surely you will tell me, Mr. Boyle?” she pleaded wistfully.
“Well, I happen to know there’s a letter in the doctor’s hands. But that is to be given to you in case of accident alone. Isn’t that so, doctor? And there’s no sign of any accident yet, thank goodness!”
Boyle sighed, like a man who lays down a heavy load. He had successfully engineered Christobal into the conversation.