“Poor thing, she must have cried herself about blind, Polly.”
At this point Captain Bradstreet came with the deck-steward to arrange the steamer-chairs of the party. Paul and Kirke followed with the shawls and travelling-rugs. Then those who wished to do so extended themselves at their ease and chatted or dozed till the dinner-bell sounded. The sea was as smooth as glass, and the only motion of the vessel was that caused by the throbbing engines.
“I’m not a bit seasick, boys,” boasted Molly, as all went down to dinner; “I expected to be, but I’m not.”
“I hope you’ll not be sick during the passage,” replied Paul, but his face wore a peculiar smile. It was not the first time he had heard people boast in this way before they were fairly out to sea.
On entering the dining-room, Molly saw three tables stretching from one end of it to the other, and on either side of these tables were rows of cardinal velvet chairs. Instead of being supported by four legs, each chair swung upon a pivot in a central standard screwed to the floor.
“Our seats are at the middle table,” said Paul. “There are your father and mother just sitting down.”
Weezy was with them and whispered to Molly as she paused beside her,—
“I tell you how to get into your chair, Molly. You squeeze in sideways and then jiggle it ’round.”
“Yes, yes, Weezy, I know.”
Molly wished her little sister would not make them both so conspicuous when the young lady in mourning sat next Pauline on the opposite side of the table and could hear every word.