CHAPTER X
The Unheeded SOS
During the rest of the day the West Barbican rolled before the following wind, to the no small discomfort of the majority of the passengers. It was a cold wind, too, and few of the passengers who had withstood the attacks of mal de mer ventured on deck.
"Have you found out who that loud-voiced female passenger is?" inquired Peter of Anstey, as the two paced the almost deserted boat-deck.
He put the question with ulterior motives, masking the main point of his curiosity.
"That queer specimen?" rejoined the Third Officer. "No, I haven't, beyond the fact that she's a Mrs. Shallop, and her husband, that red-faced man, is a horse-dealer, who made a pile in the war by stopping at home and selling broken-down hacks to Government inspectors who hardly knew the bow of a gee-gee from the stern. Yes, we're going to have some fun out of Mrs. Shallop before long, old son. She's had a row with the purser, two with the chief stewardess, and a few with the stewards thrown in as make-weights."
"What about?' asked Mostyn.
"Goodness knows," replied Anstey. "The purser was talking to the Old Man about it after breakfast. She's rather got on the poor chap's nerves. Apparently she's an imaginary grievance that they don't treat her like a 'lydy', so she's been ramming it down their throats that she's a naval officer's daughter—a captain's daughter."
"Well, isn't she?" asked Peter.
The Third Officer sniffed scornfully. Evidently Mrs. Shallop had fallen foul of him already.