A few minutes later Teresa whisked into the passage leading to the room of Mr. McClement, the sagacious chief engineer. Here was a world secluded from the passenger quarters, a grimy, hard-working world in which moved scantily clad men with towels thrown over their shoulders. Teresa was safe from the espionage of the apoplectic chief steward. She rapped on a door which was opened by Mr. McClement, whose lean, freckled countenance was white with lather. He waved a razor in a gesture of cordial invitation.
Teresa entered. He removed a disorderly heap of books and clothing from a chair and offered no apologies.
“Just came out of the shower and was shifting into fresh duds,” he explained. “Been taking one of those condemned winches to pieces. The misbegotten machines go wrong every voyage. What can you expect, though, with these nigger donkeymen we pick up from port to port? I wanted to take a turn ashore, but couldn’t get off sooner. It is Dick Cary, of course. Where the deuce is he? Any theories to offer, Miss Fernandez?”
“Nothing at all, Mr. McClement. Not one thing at all,” she said, no longer trying to hide what she felt. “You are his best friend in the ship and—and he is a friend of mine, too. You know. You are so wise that it is no use fooling you.”
“I shouldn’t say that the large and ingenuous Cary had baffled my perceptions,” was the dry comment. “When I last saw him he was wearing his heart on his sleeve. God made him that way. The bigger they are the harder they fall.”
“And you honestly think he fell for me?” cried Teresa, with her most enchanting smile. It was like a flash of sunshine in a rifted cloud.
“His symptoms convinced me, Miss Fernandez. Humph! This pleases you, I see, but it gets us nowhere. Well, he didn’t go ashore to pull the town to pieces. I know him better than that. The captain makes that excuse for leaving him adrift.”
“You believe in Mr. Cary, just as I do? Ah, I could kiss you for that. I have heard those horrid lies on deck—”
“Pardon me, while I remove this lather, and perhaps you can find a dry spot,” he interrupted. “A kiss from you would be a noteworthy event in the somber chronicle of existence.”
“For shame, Mr. McClement. How can you joke with me?”