“It never struck me to tell her your wife was coming,” said the skipper. “Where we’re to put ’em both I don’t know. I s’pose it’s quite certain your wife’ll come?”
“Certain,” said the mate.
“No chance of ’er changing ’er mind?” suggested the skipper, looking away from him.
“Not now she’s got that bonnet,” replied the mate. “I s’pose there’s no chance of your wife changing hers?”
The skipper shook his head. “There’s one thing,” he said hopefully, “they’ll be nice company for each other. They’ll have to ’ave the state-room between ’em. It’s a good job my wife ain’t as big as yours.”
“We’ll be able to play four ’anded wist sometimes,” said the mate, as he followed the skipper below to see what further room could be made.
“Crowded, but jolly,” said the other.
The two cabs drove up almost at the same moment while they were below, and Mrs. Bunnett’s cabman had no sooner staggered on to the jetty with her luggage than Mrs. Fillson’s arrived with hers.
The two ladies, who were entire strangers, stood regarding each other curiously as they looked down at the bare deck of the Foam.
“George!” cried Mrs. Fillson, who was a fine woman, raising her voice almost to a scream in the effort to make herself heard above the winch of a neighbouring steamer.