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The Looker-On
by
“A very intelligent looker-on, though,” said Charlie, in a tone she did not wholly understand.
“And if I don’t do anything worth doing, it is possibly lack of opportunity, isn’t it? I can do many things, from driving engines to playing skittles. Take a man for what he is, not for what he does! It is the only fair estimate. Otherwise the blatant fools get all the honey.”
Molly uttered a scornful little laugh.
“This is paltry,” she exclaimed. “A man’s actions are the actual man. He can make his own opportunities. No, Mr. Cleveland. You will never convince me of your intrinsic worth by talking.”
She paused, as it were, involuntarily. Again that startled feeling of uncertainty was at her heart. There was a momentary silence. Then Charlie made her an odd, jerky bow, and without a single word further turned and left her.
Quaint as was his attire, ungainly as were his movements, there was in his withdrawal a touch of dignity, even a hint of the sublime; and Molly could not understand it.
She paced the length of the deck and sat down to regain her composure. The interview had left her considerably ruffled, even ill at ease.
III
She had been sitting there for some moments when suddenly, with a great throb that seemed to vibrate through the whole length of the great vessel from end to end, the engines ceased. The music in the large saloon, where the first-class passengers were dancing, came to an abrupt stop. There was a pause, a thrilling, intense pause; and then the confusion of voices.
A man ran quickly by her to the bridge, where she could dimly discern the first-officer on watch. She sprang up, dreading she knew not what, and at the same instant Charlie–she knew it was he by the flutter of the ridiculous garb he wore–leapt off the bridge like a hurricane, and tore past her.
He was gone in a second, almost before she had had time to realise his flying presence; and the next moment passengers were streaming up on deck, asking questions, uttering surmises, on the verge of panic, yet trying to ignore the anxiety that tugged at their resolution.
Molly joined the crowd. She was frightened too, badly frightened; but it is always better to face fear in company. So at least says human instinct.
The passengers collected in a restless mass on the upper deck. The captain was seen going swiftly to the bridge. After a brief word with him the first-officer came down to them. He was a pleasant, easy-tempered man, and did not appear in the least dismayed.
“It’s all right,” he said, raising his voice. “Please don’t be alarmed! There has been a little accident in the engine-room. The captain hopes you won’t let it interfere with your dancing.”
He placed himself in the thick of the strangely dressed crowd. His clean-shaven face was perfectly unconcerned.
“I’ll come and join you, if I may,” he said. “The captain allows me to knock off. Will you admit a non-fancy-dresser?”
He led the way below, calling for the orchestra as he went. The frightened crowd turned and followed as if in this one man who spoke with the voice of authority protection could be found. But they hung back from dancing, and after a pause the first-officer seized a banjo and proceeded to entertain them with comic songs. He kept it up for a while, and then Mrs. Langdale went nobly to his assistance and sang some Irish songs. One or two other volunteers presented themselves, and the evening’s entertainment developed into a concert.
The tension relaxed considerably as the time slipped by, but it did not wholly pass. It was noticed that the doctor was absent.
A reluctance to disperse for the night was very manifestly obvious.
About two hours after the first alarm the great ship thrilled as if in answer to some monster touch. The languid roll ceased. The engines started again firmly, regularly, with gradually rising speed. In less than a minute all was as it had been.