“Some late passengers,” remarked the third officer, who was standing beside Brainard. “A woman, too!”
Apparently neither the stenographer—for now he could recognize the young woman—nor her companion, a stout, middle-aged, red-cheeked American, understood the French language. They kept gesticulating and pointing to Brainard, whom they had discovered on the deck. The captain of the launch translated their remarks, and threw in some explanations of his own. The officers from the bridge of the Toulouse fired back vigorous volleys of questions. It was an uproar!
Brainard, in spite of his predicament, burst into laughter over the frantic endeavors of the two Americans to make themselves understood. The captain tried his English, but with poor results. Finally, with a gesture of disgust, he yanked the bell rope. Brainard could hear the gong sound in the engine room beneath for full speed. The Toulouse would not wait.
The steamer began to gather speed, the launch to fall behind, while the woman at the bow shrieked and pointed to Brainard. The captain of the Toulouse merely shrugged his shoulders and walked to the other side of his vessel.
“Some friends of yours?” the third officer said to Brainard, with a grin, as the little launch fell into their wake and finally turned back toward the inner harbor. “The lady seemed anxious to join you—might be a wife, non?”
Apparently he knew enough English to enable him to conjecture what the two Americans wanted. If, thought Brainard, the captain had known as much English as his third officer, it might not have gone so happily for him!
“The lady isn’t exactly my wife,” Brainard replied, with a laugh; “not yet!”
“Ah!” the Frenchman said, with a meaning smile. “What you in the States call a breach of the promise?”
“Exactly!” Brainard replied hastily, glad to accept such a credible fiction.
“She seems sorry to let you make the journey alone, eh?”