“We’re signalling for help!”
“Henry—where are my slippers?” And Henry’s voice—“I haven’t got ’em on, my dear!”
Jim was in Norah’s cabin, suddenly.
“Thought you might be scared, kiddie,” he said. “But it’s only fog, I think. Great Scott! doesn’t that siren make a row!”
Then came the voice of the third officer, very bored and patient; and a dozen voices assailing him.
“No—fog only, I assure you. No danger at all. No—there isn’t a German within a hundred miles. Merely fog-horn, madam. Yes, it’s quite thick. Certainly you can come on deck, if you really like fog; you won’t see anything. No, we don’t expect to run on any rocks. I should advise you to get back to bed. The fog-horn blows every half-minute.”
“But it’s waked the baby!” came on a high note of grievance.
“Sorry,” said the third officer’s bored voice, still polite. “I should recommend the baby to get used to it.” They heard his quick footsteps retreating up the corridor.
“Well, there’s nothing to stay up for—and isn’t it cold!” Jim ejaculated. “I hope to goodness this will have gone before morning; it will be a nuisance if it spoilt the entrance to the harbour, so far as view is concerned.”
“Don’t speak of such a horrid thing!” said Norah, sleepily, snuggling down among the pillows. “Go back to bed, Daddy dear—you’ll get so cold. Thank you both for coming.” For a while she stayed awake, while the clamour in the ship died down gradually, and only the slow hooting of the siren was heard. It was not exactly a soothing lullaby, but nevertheless Norah fell asleep.