Forgetting the condition of my arm, I made an effort to encircle her. She whisked herself silently away, but, hearing the groan that involuntarily escaped me when the helpless arm struck the table and sent an electric spasm of pain to my shoulder, she turned rapidly toward me with pity in her face. Then, springing forward, she raised her lips to mine for one infinitesimal fraction of a second, and almost before the rest of that moment of bliss was passed I found myself alone in the empty saloon.
CHAPTER XVI
Late as it was, I went up on deck, and it was lucky for me I did so, for I met our bluff old captain, who, when he learned of the disablement of my arm, said genially that he had a Cape Cod liniment good for man or donkey, and I was welcome to it in either capacity. He ordered me down to my stateroom, and followed later with the bottle. His own gnarled hands rubbed the pungent-smelling stuff on my arm, and he told me I’d be next to all right in the morning, which prophecy came true.
I am sorry that in these voyages to and from Corea we met absolutely no adventures, picked up no shipwrecked crew, and met no cyclone, so I am unable to write down any of those vivid descriptions that I have always admired in Mr. Clark Russell.
Next morning was heavenly in its beauty and its calm. Nagasaki was the last civilized address which would receive telegrams, letters or papers for Mr. Hemster, and the old gentleman was anxious to reach there as soon as possible. As I have remarked before, he was constantly yearning for a daily paper. The captain informed me that he had engaged a “heathen Chinee” as pilot, and so was striking direct from Chemulpo to Nagasaki, letting the islands take care of themselves, as he remarked.
I walked the deck, watching eagerly for the coming of Hilda Stretton, but instead there arrived Gertrude Hemster, bright, smiling, and beautiful. I was just now regretting lack of opportunity to indulge in Clark-Russellism, yet here was a chance for a descriptive writer which proved quite beyond my powers. The costume of Miss Hemster was bewildering in its Parisian completeness. That girl must have had a storehouse of expensive gowns aboard the yacht. I suppose this was what a writer in a lady’s paper would call a confection, or a creation, or something of that sort; but so far as I am concerned you might as well expect an elucidation of higher mathematics as an adequate delineation of that sumptuous gown. All I can say is that the tout ensemble was perfect, and the girl herself was radiant in her loveliness. She approached me with a winning smile like that of an angel.
“I want you to know how I appreciate your bravery. I shall never forget,—no, not if I live to be a thousand years old,—how grand and noble you looked standing up alone against that horde of savages. I was just telling Poppa that the very first reporter he meets, he must give a glowing account to him of your heroism.”