“Well, if he’s a peddler he’s a high-class one—probably the junior member of the firm that owns the works.”
Armitage saw something of all the Claibornes every day in the pleasant intimacy of ship life, and Hilton Claiborne found the young man an interesting talker. Judge Claiborne is, as every one knows, the best-posted American of his time in diplomatic history; and when they were together Armitage suggested topics that were well calculated to awaken the old lawyer’s interest.
“The glass-blower’s a deep one, all right,” remarked Dick to Shirley. “He jollies me occasionally, just to show there’s no hard feeling; then he jollies the governor; and when I saw our mother footing it on his arm this afternoon I almost fell in a faint. I wish you’d hold on to him tight till we’re docked. My little friend from California is crazy about him—and I haven’t dared tell her he’s only a drummer; such a fling would be unchivalrous of me—”
“It would, Richard. Be a generous foe—whether—whether you can afford to be or not!”
“My sister—my own sister says this to me! This is quite the unkindest. I’m going to offer myself to the daughter of the redwoods at once.”
Shirley and Armitage talked—as people will on ship-board—of everything under the sun. Shirley’s enthusiasms were in themselves interesting; but she was informed in the world’s larger affairs, as became the daughter of a man who was an authority in such matters, and found it pleasant to discuss them with Armitage. He felt the poetic quality in her; it was that which had first appealed to him; but he did not know that something of the same sort in himself touched her; it was enough for those days that he was courteous and amusing, and gained a trifle in her eyes from the fact that he had no tangible background.
Then came the evening of the fifth day. They were taking a turn after dinner on the lighted deck. The spring stars hung faint and far through thin clouds and the wind was keen from the sea. A few passengers were out; the deck stewards went about gathering up rugs and chairs for the night.
“Time oughtn’t to be reckoned at all at sea, so that people who feel themselves getting old might sail forth into the deep and defy the old man with the hour-glass.”
“I like the idea. Such people could become fishers—permanently, and grow very wise from so much brain food.”
“They wouldn’t eat, Mr. Armitage. Brain-food forsooth! You talk like a breakfast-food advertisement. My idea—mine, please note—is for such fortunate people to sail in pretty little boats with orange-tinted sails and pick up lost dreams. I got a hint of that in a pretty poem once—