"Berth!" I exclaim. "No, I haven't. You see I only telegraphed——" and here I am about to repeat my entire explanation, when Sir Peter and Sir Thomas cut it short by shaking their heads ominously. "I'm going away on Saturday night," I say, as if the prospect of my leaving them soon would soften them a bit.
"Saturday!" returns Sir Peter, with a chuckle. "'Pon my soul I don't see how you're going to do that." And he smiles derisively.
"No one goes on shore till Monday," observes Sir Thomas, with decision. "Certainly not," says the Weather-beaten Man, who is not on the list, turning against me; "and, for my part, I don't care how long I stay in such good quarters."
After this there is an uncomfortable silence. Sir Thomas says there are two hundred and fifty guests. Heavens! and I had thought it was a small and select party of genial bachelors! We read our papers, the Weather-beaten Man in his corner, I in mine. Sir Peter and Sir Thomas smoke, and then both fall asleep. Waking up, they fall to conversing about a trip they have already had on the Regina, comparing notes of comfort and so forth. I'm out of it. So is the Weather-beaten Stranger. I begin to wish I hadn't come, or, at all events, that I had brought my invitation card as proof of my identity, and a verification of my statement. Wish, too, I'd brought Rossher's telegram. No good wishing. I haven't. I'm not there yet; but what frightens me is, that as there are two hundred and fifty passengers, if I am the only one who wants to go on shore on Saturday night, they will never upset all the arrangements for the sake of sending me off in a launch or a gig, or whatever they have in use. And if I can't return Saturday——However, here I am, and I'll go through with it.
Southampton, directly alongside of the Regina. Magnificent vessel. Crowd trooping in out of train. Men in uniform at gangway, directing everyone to go below and get billeted. I join the crowd descending the companion. As everyone comes to a table where certain M.& N. officials are standing, each person shows his or her invitation-card, and receives a number. Then they disappear, some singly, some in couples, as if it were the Ark, and Rossher were Noah settling it all. Evidently the first thing necessary is the invitation-card. Ha! there is Rossher in the distance, at the far corner of the table. I wave my hand to him in the heartiest manner, expressive of my delight at seeing him, and I am sincerely grateful, for I feel at this moment that Rossher is the only friend I have in this strange world, from which I am liable at any moment to be summarily ejected, being unable to show my raison d'être in the shape of the invitation-card.
"Name?" says a sharp man in ordinary civilian's dress, from whom, judging by his tone and business-like manner, I feel confident I can expect no mercy. "I haven't got one," I reply, whereat he frowns as if he didn't mean to stand any nonsense, and I apologise humbly for having mistaken his question. I thought he was asking for my card. "No," he says, eying me suspiciously. "Name! Where is it? Down here?" And he hands me the confounded list, at which I make no pretence of looking, but cast an appealing look towards Rossher, who at that moment, most fortunately for me, comes up, having finished shaking hands with two hundred out of the two hundred and fifty arrivals.
"Ah! you here!" he exclaims, with an air of cheery surprise. "That's capital. Didn't know you were coming."
I am considerably staggered. "Why," I say to him, protesting, "I telegraphed——"
"Ah!" says Rossher in an off-hand way, "then I didn't receive it. You wait quietly here, and we'll see what can be done for you."
I catch Weather-beaten Stranger's eye. He is waiting, also, with his back against a cabin-door, most patiently. I meet several friends. I explain to them all, over and over again, my melancholy story, and while I do so I stand as near the table as possible, so that the sad tale may reach some of the officials, and excite them to pity and immediate action on my behalf. My friends nod at me pleasantly, hope it will come all right, and leave me, to see after their own comforts. What a selfish, unsympathetic world this is!