“Well, it's a kind of stew that the soldiers' wives make. It's cheap and nourishing. We don't have anything just like it in America that I know of.”
“Well, you are English, after all, Chris,” with evident gratification; “there must be lots of more things you can tell me, and there's no end to the good times we'll have together; but I guess I'd better go now. I shouldn't wonder if mamma felt rather ill this rough morning—she isn't a very good sailor. Good-by, Chris; you'll come to the gate after breakfast?”
Chris promised, and watched the trim little figure till it disappeared; then he turned and paced the deck with a somewhat troubled look on his kind face. Somehow he had not given much thought to this subject of first and second class till on that first morning out, when he found the low iron gate imposing itself so resolutely between himself and his little friend; but then he realized at a bound how much there was in it. It might well happen that the father and mother, who were quite willing that their little daughter should have an occasional chat with the postman at home, would prefer not to recognize him in the role of a second-cabin passenger; and good Chris Hartley felt inclined to call himself all manner of names for thoughtlessly allowing himself to be put in such a position. If Mr. Harris should forbid Marie-Celeste to see him, or should just calmly ignore the fact that he was on board at all, it would be pretty hard to bear. And so Chris suddenly found himself face to face with the class distinctions that seem inevitable in this social world of ours, and in a way that might turn all the bright anticipations for this voyage into the reality of a most disagreeable experience. Yes, there was no doubt about it, he had acted like a fool; and rather than run the chance of being “made to know his place,” as the phrase has it, he believed he would have kept out of the way of Marie-Celeste all the way over if he had thought of it in time; but we, of course, believe nothing of the sort. How could he ever have had the heart to carry out such a doleful resolution, and what a pity if he had tried to! The truth was, Chris had too low an opinion of himself altogether. He had an idea, for instance, that he was a very plain-looking sort of a fellow, whereas there was something about him that made him distinctly noticeable everywhere he went. It was hard to tell just what it was—a brimming-over kindliness, I think, best describes it. It shone plain as day in his friendly eyes and hovered under his light mustache, and his head even seemed to be set on his shoulders in a most kindly fashion. But Chris himself was oblivious to all his charms, personal or otherwise, and in this modesty of his, and in many other ways as well, proved himself the gentleman; and the beauty of it was that Mr. Harris, being a true gentleman himself, had long ago recognized the article in his postman. It was a pity Chris should not have known this. It would have spared him a wretched hour or so that first morning at sea. Indeed, this not knowing is responsible for a great deal of this world's fret and worry, and yet too much knowing would be just as sorry a thing sometimes; so perhaps it would be as well for us to leave matters as they are for the present.
Meantime, Marie-Celeste had made her way to the bow, and to the doorway of a room there, which she had chanced to notice the afternoon before.
“Passengers are not allowed in here, are they?” she asked timidly.
“Not ordinarily,” said the captain, looking up from a chart spread out on a table before him.
Marie-Celeste could not possibly discover whether the tone was encouraging or no, but in any case she had no words with which to continue, so awe-inspiring proved the blue coat, gold braid, and the other insignia of the captain's office. Besides, it had taken so much courage to nerve herself up to the mere asking of the question, that she found she had none in reserve, and stood transfixed in the doorway, her little face aflame with embarrassment. Now, if there is a class of men anywhere who believe in what we were speaking of a minute ago (that is, a man's knowing his place), they are the captains of the ocean steamers. It is of course nothing but the enforcement of this very rule that renders ocean travel the safe and comfortable thing it is, and that assures you, even in case of accident, that the strictest discipline will be preserved. Indeed, I have an idea that Captain Revell inclines to apply the same rule to every one aboard of his great steamer, to passengers as well as to officers and crew, and so perhaps regarded the advent of Marie-Celeste in the light of an intrusion. And when you come right down to it, there was that in his tone, when he answered her question, that made her feel that he thought she should not have ventured it.