"You mustn't! I won't let you. It's dangerous."
"Later it may be. Not now."
She stretched out her hands to him. "Please don't leave me."
He took the imploring little hands in his own firm grip. "Listen. There's no telling what has happened. We may have to go on deck. We may even be ordered to the boats. Warm clothing is an absolute necessity. Think now, and tell me what you need."
She gave him a quick but rather sketchy list. "And your own overcoat and sweater—or I won't let you go. Promise." Her fingers turned in his and caught at them.
"Very well, tyrant. I'll be back in three minutes."
Had he known what was awaiting him he might have promised with less confidence. For there was a dragon in the path in the person of young Mr. Diedrick Sperry, breathing, if not precisely flames, at least, fumes, for he had sat late in the smoking-room, consuming much liquor. At sight of the Tyro, his joke which he had so highly esteemed, returned to his mind.
"Haberdashin' 'round again, hey?" he shouted, blocking the passage halfway down to Stateroom 129. "Where's Cissy Wayne?"
"Safe," said the Tyro briefly.
"Safe be damned! You tell me where before you move a step farther." He stretched out a hand which would have done credit to a longshoreman.