Long before noon the Kansas cleared White Horse Island. There was a
ticklish hour while Courtenay and Boyle looked for the shoal. When its
long, low sandspit was revealed by the falling tide, the ship took
thought of her agony there, and traversed those treacherous waters with
due reverence. Thenceforth, the run was due south until eight bells,
when, for the second time within a fortnight, the captain set the
course "South-40-East."
A stiff breeze blowing from the south-west, and heavy clouds rolling up
over the horizon, showed that the land of storms was repenting the
phenomenal frivolity which had let it bask in sunshine for an unbroken
spell of ten days. But the gale which whistled into Good Hope Inlet
that night carried with it no disabled and blood-stained ship. Mr.
Malcolm, who got his diminished squad of stewards in hand as though the
vessel had quitted port that day, served dinner promptly at two bells
in the second dog watch--by which no allusion is intended to an animal
already gorged to repletion--and wore a proper professional air of
annoyance because everybody was late, owing to the interesting fact
that the half-minute fixed dashing light on Evangelistas Island had
just been sighted.
Elsie noted that Count Edouard de Poincilit came with the rest, and sat
beside Isobel. Courtenay put in an appearance later to partake of a
hasty meal. He gave monsieur a black look, but, of course, catching
Elsie's eye instantly, he meekly sat down and said nothing--nothing,
that is, of an unpleasant nature. All good ladies will recognize such
behavior as one of the points of a man likely to become a model husband.
Dr. Christobal and Gray were in great form, while Tollemache actually
told a story. When the captain sent Boyle down from the bridge, Elsie
made Tollemache repeat it--a simple yarn, detailing an all-night search
for a Devonshire village, which he could not find because some rotter
had deemed it funny to turn a sign-post the wrong way round.
"Huh, that's odd," said Boyle. "Reminds me of a thing that happened to
a friend of mine, skipper of the Flower of the Ocean brig. Brown his
name was, an' he had a wooden leg. The day his son an' heir was born,
he dropped into a gin-mill to celebrate, an' his stump stuck in a rope
mat. He swore a bit, but he chanced to see on one of the half doors
the name 'Nosmo,' an', on the other, 'King.' 'Dash me,' says he,'
them's two fine names for the kid--Nosmo King Brown'--a bit of all
right, eh? So he goes home an' tells the missus. After the
christenin', he took a pal or two round to the same bar to stand treat.
That time the two halves of the door were closed, an' any ass could see
that the letters stood for 'No Smoking.' Well, the other fellows told
me his language was so sultry that his prop caught fire."