A Madcap Cruise

by Oric Bates

He settled himself in his chair, feeling that he could have borne anything better than this delay, and half tempted now to give it up, and beat a retreat. He saw one man after another go into the inner room, and after a time return and go away. He crossed and recrossed his legs with an impatient feeling that he had never sat in so uncomfortable a chair. He tried to beguile the time by reading the log, but first he opened to the account of the lifting of the Merle, and then to the story of how her bulwarks were torn away by the storm. He fell to thinking how good Uncle Randolph had always been to him, and every minute felt more and more like a wretch for having left the old gentleman stranded at North Haven. The time grew longer and longer, and every moment more intolerable as the second hour began to drag its slow length after the first. Then he noticed that only one man remained to delay his interview, and so completely was he demoralized that he felt that he would have given anything in the world to be excused from the trial before him. It seemed to him that the last man but one did his business, whatever it was, in an amazingly short time; and he all but bolted when the last went to his appointment. If he could get away and think things over once more, he might perhaps be able to devise some sort of excuse more plausible than anything he had to offer; and he all but started to his feet to fly when the door opened to let out the only visitor who had stood between him and the dreaded encounter with the president.

"Mr. Drake will see you now, sir," said the office boy.

Jack got to his feet as if by automatic action, and felt them drag him forward against his will. Another instant, and the door had closed behind him; he stood in the inner office. With a tremendous effort—an effort which was almost physical—to pull himself together, he looked up at his uncle.

He saw a slight gentleman, dressed in a well-fitting suit of gray, looking out of one of the windows with his back to the door. The office was high enough to command a view of the harbor, shining blue in the sun beyond the clusters of roofs and chimneys. Mr. Drake stood for a moment as if examining the view for the first time, while Jack wondered whether this unconsciousness of his presence was real, or was of a piece with the infliction of the long wait. Then the President turned to him, and bowed formally, as if to a stranger. His face wore a curious look of weariness and patience which somehow reminded Jack of his father. The high forehead was wrinkled with a line or two that Jack did not remember, and the curly hair was surely more thickly streaked with gray.

"Well, sir?" Mr. Drake said in a tone hard and even.

"Well, Uncle Randolph," said Jack, confused, "I—I'm here."

"So I see," remarked the President. "Is that what you came to say?"

Jack felt that the interview promised to be even worse than he had feared. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably, and studied the figures in the rug. Then he looked up at the face of the elder man, and something in it smote him to the heart.