up to the boat deck. He shook his head.
‘No!’ he said.
Then he thought of the pretty girl in the blue frock. ‘Fancy ’er torkin’ ter me!’ he reflected. ‘“Doncher find it ’ot ’ere?” she ses, and then I ses, “’Ot as ches’nuts,” I ses, and then she larfs. Nice larf. It’d be a pity …’
He moved towards the companion-way. It is to be remembered that Ben believed implicitly in his knuckles.
To walk from a well-deck to a Captain’s quarters is ordinarily quite a simple job, but the difference between a journey you may make and a journey you may not is abysmal. The latter is ten times as long, and ten times as difficult.
Ben’s difficulties were increased by the unusual rolling of the ship. Although he had spent many years in the merchant service he had never permanently discovered his sea legs. Sometimes they obeyed the oceanic instinct, at other times they did not, and this was one of the other times. Twice before he completed the first stage of the journey to the companion-way he shortened his left leg when he ought to have lengthened it, and thrice he lengthened his right leg when he ought to have shortened it. The result was dislocating to joints, and he arrived at the companion-way playing for safety, with both legs shortened.
Then he paused. A hurrying figure appeared on the ladder above him. Still squatting, he watched it descend and materialise into the Doctor.
‘Are you the fellow who’s come out in spots?’ demanded the Doctor brusquely.
‘No, sir,’ replied Ben. ‘That’s Jim—but they ain’t nothing.’
‘How do you know?’
‘’E ’as ’em in ’ealth.’
‘Thanks for the information, my man, but I’ll do my own diagnosing, if you don’t mind.’ Ben didn’t mind. He had no idea what diagnosing was, but it sounded nasty. ‘What are you supposed to be doing?’
‘Eh? Oh! Restin’.’
‘Ah—not practising a Russian dance! Well, take my advice and rest under cover, or you’ll be washed overboard!’
The Doctor proceeded on his way, and Ben proceeded on his. But at the top of the companion-way he shot into another figure. Lord What’s-his-name, the man who found it difficult to bend. As they regained their breath they regarded each other from opposite angles. This was the first, and least strange, of many meetings, although neither of them knew it.
‘You appear in a hurry,’ observed the lordly obstacle, refixing his monocle.
‘Yus, I got a messidge,’ mumbled Ben.
‘In that case I must not detain you,’ replied Lord What’s-his-name. Other people knew him as Lord Cooling. It was a name that had appeared on many glowing company prospectuses, the prospectus usually being more glowing than the company. ‘I trust we may meet again one day in less urgent circumstances. Good-evening.’
Then Ben escaped to the second companion-way leading from the main deck to the saloon deck. The higher he got the more anxious he grew. He was permitted on the main deck, provided he did not linger and merely used it as a passage from the quarters where he slept to the quarters where he worked, but the saloon deck was taboo, and he hoped there would be no more awkward meetings. Fortunately for this hope the weather had driven most of the passengers inside, and apart from slipping on a step, tripping over a rope, hitting a rail, and nearly being shot into a ventilator, he passed safely through the next few seconds. But just as he was about to ascend the third companion-way to the boat deck he heard voices; and, still being near the ventilator that had just failed to suck him down into the unknown region it ventilated, he slipped behind it. The manœuvre was necessary since one of the voices he recognised as the Third Officer’s.
‘You’d better go in, Miss Sheringham,’ the Third Officer was urging.
‘It’s certainly blowy,’ came the response, and then Ben recognised that voice also. It was the voice of the pretty girl in the blue frock. But now she was wearing oilskins.
‘And it’s going to get worse,’ answered the Third Officer. ‘Nothing whatever to worry about, you know, but it’s pleasanter inside.’
‘Why did you say there was nothing to worry about?’ asked the girl.
‘Because there isn’t,’ returned the Third Officer.
‘Or because there is?’
The Third Officer laughed.
‘That’s much too clever for me! I’ve been through gales that make this seem like a sea breeze, but—’
‘But it’s a jolly good sea breeze!’ Now the girl laughed too. ‘Won’t the dancing floor be wobbly tonight? I wonder how many will be on it!’
‘If you’re on it, I expect you’ll be dancing a solo.’
‘I have a higher opinion of British manhood, Mr Haines! I shall certainly be on it. I rather like the idea of trying to do a slow fox-trot up a moving mountain—’
‘Look out!’
Ben accepted the warning as well as the girl, but none of them ducked quickly enough. The sudden fountain drenched all three.
‘Really, Miss Sheringham, I wish you’d go in!’ exclaimed the Third Officer, after the drench. He made no attempt now to hide his anxiety.
‘I think I will!’ gasped the girl. ‘I’m soaked! But how did you know I was out?’
‘Well—I’ve eyes.’
‘Jolly quick ones! I hadn’t been out two minutes before you pounced on me!’
‘We try to look after our passengers.’
‘Beautifully put! Still, you’re quite right—I’d no idea it was so awful … I say, what’s that?’
‘What?’
‘Over there! Towards the horizon—where I’m pointing!’
There came a short silence. The wind rose to a shriek, then died down again. Ben could only hear the voices because the gale was blowing in his direction.
‘I can’t see anything,’ said the Third Officer.
‘Nor can I now. That mist has blotted it out. It was dark—like a whale. If I saw it at all.’
‘And that isn’t mist, it’s rain,’ answered the Third Officer briskly. ‘It’ll be here in a moment and drown you! Go inside at once. It’s not a request this time, it’s an order!’
Ben heard a little laugh,
