“There are other people a long way worse off than we are,” Jim said. “Dixon’s married, I know; he has a wife and kiddie in Glasgow. And Major Edwards and Captain Field have got to leave their wives on the Perseus—my aunt, isn’t it rough on poor little Mrs. Field, with that troublesome baby!”
Norah jumped.
“That’s my pet baby!” she said. “I’ll go and see if I can take him for a while.”
She fled to the Fields’ cabin. Captain Field, a tall, delicate man with quiet ways that Norah liked, was sitting on the couch, his arm round his wife. The baby was howling dismally, as if he understood. Mrs. Field, white and tearless, was trying vainly to rock him to sleep.
“I’ll take him, Mrs. Field,” Norah said breathlessly. “He’ll be quite all right—don’t you worry.”
Mrs. Field protested feebly.
“You want to be with your boys yourself,” she said. “He will go to sleep presently.”
“He’ll be much happier on deck,” Norah said. She grasped the baby’s outdoor attire in one hand, tucked him under the other arm, and fled. The boys and her father had established themselves in a corner of the deck-lounge; and there the baby sat on a table and played with Jim’s keys, and became extraordinarily cheerful and contented. Somehow, he helped them all.
“The nicest yearling I ever saw!” said Jim, when at last it grew dusk. He rose, giving the baby one finger, on which he fastened with interest, evidently regarding it as edible. “No, you don’t, young man; I’ve got to go and put my things together; it’s time we did it, Wal. You’ll come, too, dad?”
David Linton nodded.