“Jimmy, you are an angel!” said his sister, solemnly. “When did you think of it?”
Jim had the grace to look sheepish.
“When it struck me this morning to manage the same thing for myself and Wal!” he admitted. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of these empty cabins before. At least it means that we’ll have fresh air to sleep in, and that’s something.” He broke into a suppressed laugh, hiding it by renewed attention to the waves.
“What is it?” asked Norah.
“That seafaring person,” said Jim, indicating an old quartermaster, who had passed them with a slightly aloof air, “had an adventure with Wal and me after you had gone below last night. We were stretched out on our deck-chairs—the deck as dark as usual, of course, only you know how you get used to the dim light after a while?”
Norah nodded.
“Well, he came suddenly out of the light of a doorway, shutting it quickly after him, and approached us. We thought he saw us, so we never thought of speaking; and we only realised that he couldn’t see us at all when he fell violently on top of us. He hit Wal’s chair first, and tripped; then he fell across us both and lay face downwards on us for a moment, with a loud groan—and then he rolled off our knees, and sat up on the deck, looking the biggest idiot you can imagine. And we hadn’t any manners—we just howled!”
“How lovely!” said Norah, twinkling. “What happened?”
“He fled,” said Jim. “And we went on howling. It was a very cheerful happening.”
“No wonder he went past you with his nose in the air,” Norah said. “Poor old fellow!—it must have been a shock to him.”