“Yes, sir.”
“I can’t wait to breakfast with the rest. Can you get me some right away?”
“Yes, sir.”
So I had a solitary breakfast and went up on deck to smoke. It was a lovely morning. Blue sea, gleaming Casino, cloudless sky, and all the rest of the hippodrome. Presently the others began to trickle up. Stella Vanderley was one of the first. I thought she looked a bit pale and tired. She said she hadn’t slept well. That accounted for it. Unless you get your eight hours, where are you?
“Seen George?” I asked.
I couldn’t help thinking the name seemed to freeze her a bit. Which was queer, because all the voyage she and George had been particularly close pals. In fact, at any moment I expected George to come to me and slip his little hand in mine, and whisper: “I’ve done it, old scout; she loves muh!”
“I have not seen Mr. Lattaker,” she said.
I didn’t pursue the subject. George’s stock was apparently low that a.m.
The next item in the day’s programme occurred a few minutes later when the morning papers arrived.
Mrs. Vanderley opened hers and gave a scream.