"Poor devil—poor damn fool of an Israelite," said one observer to another. "He covered the whole of the Royal Age, and the biggest chunk of the Titan. It'll take his wife's diamonds to settle."
Three weeks later, Mr. Meyer was aroused from a brooding lethargy, by a crowd of shouting underwriters, who rushed into the Captain's room, seized him by the shoulders, and hurried him out and up to a bulletin.
"Read it, Meyer—read it. What d'you think of it?" With some difficulty he read aloud, while they watched his face:
"John Rowland, sailor of the Titan, with child passenger, name unknown, on board Peerless, Bath, at Christiansand, Norway. Both dangerously ill. Rowland speaks of ship cut in half night before loss of Titan."
"What do you make of it, Meyer—Royal Age, isn't it?" asked one.
"Yes," vociferated another, "I've figured back. Only ship not reported lately. Overdue two months. Was spoken same day fifty miles east of that iceberg."
"Sure thing," said others. "Nothing said about it in the captain's statement—looks queer."
"Vell, vwhat of it," said Mr. Meyer, painfully and stupidly: "dere is a collision clause in der Titan's policy; I merely bay the money to der steamship company instead of to der Royal Age beeple."
"But why did the captain conceal it?" they shouted at him. "What's his object—assured against collision suits?"
"Der looks of it, berhaps—looks pad."