Prince Charlie Part 29

"You are a good old chap!"

Almost tears in his eyes as he spoke. He had not counted on making friends at all, and here, the moment he set foot on the boat, was one to hand. And such a one! A perfect prince of good fellows.

"For some days," d.i.c.k continued, "I shall keep almost to this cabin.

Lying down will rest me. Moreover, I am not anxious to show up to the crowd."

Again that purple flush. Masters, considerately, was not looking. Was engaged hanging up his belongings and stowing them away in the limited s.p.a.ce at his disposal. It was work which afforded occasion for a considerable display of invention and ingenuity.

The cabin of a three thousand ton vessel, or of an Atlantic liner for that matter, offers little luxury in the way of wardrobe accommodation.

Masters, though his personal luggage did not rival in extent that of Beau Brummel, yet found himself in difficulties. He turned to his companion; said:

"I shall be inside a lot too. As a matter of fact, I'm finishing a book; have a lot of writing to do. So you won't be altogether alone."

"That's jolly!"

"Lend a hand here, old fellow, will you? See if we can shove this portmanteau under."

d.i.c.k was only too glad to be of service; willingly rendered aid in the stowing away of things. Later followed suit with his own stuff. Masters was intent on keeping his companion occupied even with the smallest matters.

That was the beginning of things. The author felt that he had got the bit in his companion's mouth; that it rested with him which road was taken; depended on his skill as a rider. Still there was every care and caution to be exercised.

When you ride a young colt it is well to see that your saddle is well girt.

CHAPTER XXIII

LOVE'S LABOUR LOST

Prosperity attended the voyage; if that term may be applied to recovery of health. The sea-air--genial companionship had something to do with it--was pulling d.i.c.k round. He said he was a new man; received a.s.surance of that fact from inspection of his reflection in the mirror.

Although his story was no longer visible on his face, it was in his heart; hidden away perhaps, but there still. He had left the stepping-stones of milk and beef-tea a long way behind; was walking through square meals as vigorously as any man aboard.

The friendship opened up in the little two-berth cabin had developed into the closest kind. On one side it had started garbed in the mantle of pretence. That was soon shed; sincerity taking its place.

d.i.c.k's fidelity was dog-like; he followed his companion about as if loath to lose sight of him. Masters had discovered in him artistic tendencies; the ability to draw well. It was long before d.i.c.k's hand ceased to remind one of a jelly; when it did, Masters asked, would d.i.c.k oblige him by doing something?

Oblige him? d.i.c.k repeated the question. Great Scott! Was there anything he could ask which he, d.i.c.k, wouldn't jolly well jump at the chance of doing. What did Charleigh take him for?

The story Masters was engaged on was to be ill.u.s.trated; sketches were needed of the proposed drawings. So the author said, speaking quite casually.

As a matter of fact, he was anxious to find occupation for idle hands.

Feared the provision, if he did not himself provide it, of less profitable work. Remembered a proverb to that effect: Satan filling a stellar part in it.

"Let me make them for you, will you?" d.i.c.k spoke eagerly. "I can draw properly, really; I've had drawings in the _Strand_ and _Windsor_, and they're particular, you know. I did it because I loved the work; I had to give it up, because my hand----"

Masters interrupted him; was ever anxious to prevent a harking back to the old days of failure. Wanted his protege to look forward, not backward: at the brightness ahead, not on the horror which he hoped was for ever left behind.

"My dear d.i.c.k, a thousand thanks! I shall be only too glad if you will."

That was the commencement of an even closer intercourse; the drawings drew them together. The sketches had to be thought out and considered.

On smooth days were worked at with pencil on paper.

d.i.c.k's was really a skilled hand. And that hand of his--he took immense pride in the fact--was steady now. The ability is not given to every artist to do line work on a boat. The throbbing from the engine room usually permeates every part of the vessel.

So the two men would sit on deck, one writing and the other drawing.

Sometimes the author's pen would suddenly cease work; cease for quite a while. d.i.c.k respected those pauses; imagined Charleigh to be thinking out the details of his work.

He was wrong. Masters was thinking of Miss Mivvins. Remorseful thoughts; remorse that he had ever wounded that generous, sweet soul; ever added by his harsh words to her burden of sorrow. Vainly regretful thoughts: regret that he had not met her earlier in life. A sigh usually marked Masters' emergence from dreamland. If he did not directly pick up his work again, his companion would open up conversation; one day said:

"I call you Prince, old fellow, because you told me to. Is it a nickname or your real name?"

Masters smiled; the sweet innocence of his G.o.dmother occurred to him; he said:

"Which do you think, now?"

"Well, I can't help thinking that Prince Charleigh seems too happy a combination to be the real thing. Real G.o.dmothers and G.o.dfathers don't hit on those things usually."

"Mine did not. Yet all the same I was christened, quite recently, Prince."

"Ah!" d.i.c.k's eyes sparkled; he fancied himself a discoverer. "I'll bet you a new hat I can guess the s.e.x of the christener--a girl?"

"Splendid marksman! A bull's eye! Hit the centre of the target first time!"

A merry twinkle found place in the younger man's eyes as he inquired:

"Engaged to her, old fellow?"

"Well----"

Masters paused. Then, with a quiet smile and a long puff at his pipe, completed his sentence:

"We have spoken of marriage."

"Soon?"

"M'no. She's very young."

The quiet smile broadened on Masters' face; he remembered how very young!

"I have been writing this morning to my girl," said d.i.c.k. "We shall touch port today for stores, and be able to post letters, the Captain says."

"So I gathered."

"Did your ears burn this morning, old chap? My letter was full of you."

"Was it?"