The Ne'er-Do-Well. Rex Beach
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dismissed her from his thoughts and continued his search for a number seventeen shirt, and collar to match. But he did not fare well. He found Mr. Stein in the smoking-room, but discovered that his size was fifteen and a half; and there was no one else to whom he could apply.
For a second time Stein importuned him to buy a chance on the ship's run, and, failing in this, suggested that they have a drink together. Had not Kirk realized in time his inability to reciprocate he would have accepted eagerly, for his recent dissipation had left him curiously weak and nervous. At the cost of an effort, however, he refused. It was a rare experience for him to refuse anything, being, like many indolent youths, an accomplished guest. In fact, he was usually as ready to accept favors as he was carelessly generous when he happened to be in funds. The technique of receiving comes to some people naturally; others cannot assume an obligation without giving offence. Kirk was one of the former. Yet now he felt a sudden, strange hesitancy and a self-consciousness that made graceful acquiescence impossible. He continued firm, therefore, even when Stein gibed at him good-humoredly:
"I suppose it's against your principles to drink, as well as to gamble?"
"Exactly."
"That's good, after the way you came aboard."
"How did I come aboard?"
"Oh, I didn't see you, but I heard about it."
Kirk flushed uncomfortably, muttering: "The acoustics of this ship are great. A man can't fall asleep but what somebody hears it."
Stein laughed: "Don't get sore; all ships are alike—we have to talk about something. Sorry I can't help you with the shirt question. Deuced careless of them to lose your luggage."
"Yes! It makes one feel about as comfortable as a man with a broken arm and the prickly heat. Something's got to be done about it, that's all." He glared enviously at the well-dressed men about the room.
Over in a corner, propped against the leather upholstery, was Mr. Cortlandt, as pale, as reserved, and as saturnine as at breakfast. He was sipping Scotch-and-soda, and in all the time that Anthony remained he did not speak to a soul save the waiter, did not shift his position save to beckon for another drink. Something about his sour, introspective aloofness displeased the onlooker, who shortly returned to the deck.
The day was warming up, and on the sunny side of the ship the steamer chairs were filling. Two old men were casting quoits; a noisy quartette was playing shuffle-board. After idling back and forth for a time, Kirk selected a chair and stretched himself out; but he was scarcely seated before the deck steward approached him and said:
"Do you wish this chair for the voyage, sir?"
"Yes, I think so."
"I'll put your name on it."
"Anthony, Suite A, third floor, front."
"Very well, sir." The man wrote out a card and fitted it to the back of the chair, saying, "One dollar, if you please."
"What?"
"The price of the chair is one dollar."
"I haven't got a dollar."
The steward laughed as if to humor his passenger. "I'm afraid then you can't have the chair."
"So I must stand up all the way to Panama, eh?"
"You are joking, sir. I'll have to pay it myself, if you don't."
"That's right—make me as uncomfortable as possible. By-the-way, what size collar do you wear?"
"Sixteen."
Kirk sighed. "Send the purser to me, will you? I'll fix up the chair matter with him."
While he was talking he heard the rustle of skirts close by and saw the woman he had met earlier seating herself next to him. With her was a French maid bearing a rug in her hands. It annoyed the young man to realize that out of all the chairs on deck he had selected the one nearest hers, and he would have changed his position had he not been too indolent. As it was, he lay idly listening to her words of direction to the maid; but as she spoke in French, he was undecided whether she was telling her companion that bad weather was imminent, or that the laundry needed counting—his mind, it seemed, ran to laundry.
Then the purser appeared. "Did you send for me?" he inquired.
"Yes. There was a strange man around just now, and he wanted a dollar for this chair."
"Well?"
"I want to establish a line of credit."
The purser grunted.
"And say!" Kirk ran on, seriously. "I've been all over your little ship, but the passengers are boys' size. I can't wear this collar any longer."
"And I can't find any baggage of yours."
"Then there isn't any. I never really expected there was. Come now, be a good fellow. This is my 'case shirt."
"If you really wish some clothes, I'll see what I can find among the stewards."
"No, no," Kirk hastily interposed, "I can't wear a shirt with soup stains on it. Let me have one of yours—we're twin brothers."
"I have no more than I need," said the purser, coldly. He opened a cigarette case, at which Anthony gazed longingly. It seemed ages since he had had a smoke; but the other seemed disinclined for small courtesies.
"I've seen the captain about that ticket matter," he went on, "and he says you must buy another."
Kirk shook his head languidly. "Once more I tell you there is nothing doing."
The officer broke out with some heat: "If you are joking, you've carried this thing far enough. If you are really strapped, as you say you are, how does it happen that you are occupying the best suite on the ship?"
"It is a long story."
"Humph! You will have to give up those quarters and go forward."
"Why? You have your money for that ticket?"
"Yes, but you're not Mr. Locke."
Kirk smiled meditatively. "How do you know?" he queried.
"Good heavens! You've told me so a dozen—"
"Ah! Then you have nothing except my word. Well, sir, now that I come to think it over, I believe my name is Locke, after all." He grinned. "Anyhow, I love my little room and I think I'll keep it. Please don't be peevish. I want you to do me a favor." He removed the ring from his finger, and, handing it to the Purser, said "I want you to get me two diamonds' and a ruby's worth of shirts and collars; and also a safety razor. My mind has stopped working, but my whiskers continue to grow."
The officer managed to say with dignity: "You wish to raise money on this, I presume? Very well, I'll see what can be done for you, Mr. Locke." As he turned away, Kirk became conscious that the woman in the next chair had let her book fall and was watching him with amused curiosity. Feeling a sudden desire to confide in some one, he turned his eyes upon her with such a natural, boyish smile that she could not take offence, and began quite as if he had known her for some time:
"These people are money-mad, aren't they? Worst bunch of gold-diggers I ever saw." Surprised, she half raised her book, but Kirk ran on: "Anybody would think I was trying to find a missing will instead of a shirt. That purser is the only man on the ship my size, and he distrusts me."
The woman murmured something unintelligible. "I hope you don't mind my speaking to you," he added. "I'm awfully lonesome. My name is Anthony, Kirk Anthony."
Evidently the occupant of the next chair was not a football enthusiast, for, although she bowed her acknowledgment, her face showed that the name carried no significance.
"I understood you to tell the purser your name was Locke," said she, in a very low-pitched, well-modulated voice. "I couldn't help overhearing."
"But it isn't really, it's Anthony. I'm the undignified heir to the