The Pagan Madonna Part 22

"Good morning, everybody!"

There was a joyousness in her voice she made not the least attempt to conceal. She was joyous, alive, and she did not care who knew it.

Dennison acknowledged her greeting with a smile, a smile which was a mixture of wonder and admiration. How in the world was she to be made to understand that they were riding a deep-sea volcano?

"Nothing disturbed you through the night?" asked Cleigh, lifting the pin from the record.

"Nothing. I lay awake for an hour or two, but after that I slept like a log. Have I kept you waiting?"

"No. Breakfast isn't quite ready," answered Cleigh.

"What makes the sea so yellow?"

"All the big Chinese rivers are mud-banked and mud-bottomed. They pour millions of tons of yellow mud into these waters. By this afternoon, however, I imagine we'll be nosing into the blue. Ah!"

"Breakfast iss served," announced Togo the j.a.p.

The trio entered the dining salon in single file, and once more Jane found herself seated between the two men. One moment she was carrying on a conversation with the father, the next moment with the son. The two ignored each other perfectly. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances it would have been strange enough; but in this hour, when no one knew where or how this voyage would end! A real tragedy or some absurd trifle? Probably a trifle; trifles dug more pits than tragedies. Perhaps tragedy was mis-named. What humans called tragedy was epic, and trifles were real tragedies. And then there were certain natures to whom the trifle was epical; to whom the inconsequent was invariably magnified nine diameters; and having made a mistake, would die rather than admit it.

To bring these two together, to lure them from behind their ramparts of stubbornness, to see them eventually shake hands and grin as men will who recognize that they have been playing the fool! She became fired with the idea. Only she must not move prematurely; there must arrive some psychological moment.

During the meal, toward the end of it, one of the crew entered. He was young--in the early twenties. The manner in which he saluted convinced Dennison that the fellow had recently been in the United States Navy.

"Mr. Cunningham's compliments, sir. Canvas has been rigged on the port promenade and chairs and rugs set out."

Another salute and he was off.

"Well, that's decent enough," was Dennison's comment. "That chap has been in the Navy. It's all miles over my head, I'll confess. Cunningham spoke of a joke when I accosted him in the chart house last night."

"You went up there?" cried Jane.

"Yes. And among other things he said that every man is ent.i.tled to at least one good joke. What the devil can he mean by that?"

Had he been looking at his father Dennison would have caught a fleeting, grim, shadowy smile on the strong mouth.

"You will find a dozen new novels on the shelves, Miss Norman," said Cleigh as he rose. "I'll be on deck. I generally walk two or three miles in the morning. Let us hang together this day to test the scalawag's promise."

"Mr. Cleigh, when you spoke of reparation last night, you weren't thinking in monetary terms, were you?"

Cleigh's brows lowered a trifle, but it was the effect of puzzlement.

"Because," she proceeded, gravely, "all the money you possess would not compensate me for the position you have placed me in."

"Well, perhaps I did have money in mind. However, I hold to my word.

Anything you may ask."

"Some day I will ask you for something."

"And if humanly possible I promise to give it," and with this Cleigh took leave.

Jane turned to Dennison.

"It is so strange and incomprehensible! You two sitting here and ignoring each other! Surely you don't hate your father?"

"I have the greatest respect and admiration for him. To you no doubt it seems fantastic; but we understand each other thoroughly, my father and I.

I'd take his hand instantly, G.o.d knows, if he offered it! But if I offered mine it would be gla.s.s against diamond--I'd only get badly scratched.

Suppose we go on deck? The air and the sunshine----"

"But this catastrophe has brought you together after all these years.

Isn't there something providential in that?"

"Who can say?"

On deck they fell in behind Cleigh, and followed him round for fully an hour; then Jane signified that she was tired, and Dennison put her in the centre chair and wrapped the rug about her. He selected the chair at her right.

Jane shut her eyes, and Dennison opened a novel. It was good reading, and he became partially absorbed. The sudden creak of a chair brought his glance round. His father had seated himself in the vacant chair.

The phase that dug in and hurt was that his father made no endeavour to avoid him--simply ignored his existence. Seven years and not a crack in the granite! He laid the book on his knees and stared at the rocking horizon.

One of the crew pa.s.sed. Cleigh hailed him.

"Send Mr. Cleve to me."

"Yes, sir."

The air and the tone of the man were perfectly respectful.

When Cleve, the first officer, appeared his manner was solicitous.

"Are you comfortable, sir?"

"Would ten thousand dollars interest you?" said Cleigh, directly.

"If you mean to come over to your side, no. My life wouldn't be worth a snap of the thumb. You know something about d.i.c.k Cunningham. I know him well. The truth is, Mr. Cleigh, we're off on a big gamble, and if we win out ten thousand wouldn't interest me. Life on board will be exactly as it was before you put into Shanghai. More I am not at liberty to tell you."

"How far is the Catwick?"

"Somewhere round two thousand--eight or nine days, perhaps ten. We're not piling on--short of coal. It's mighty difficult to get it for a private yacht. You may not find a bucketful in Singapore. In America you can always commandeer it, having ships and coal mines of your own. The drop down to Singapore from the Catwick is about forty hours. You have coal in Manila. You can cable for it."

"You are honestly leaving us at that island?"

"Yes, sir. You can, if you wish, take the run up to Saigon; but your chance for coal there is nil."

"Cleve," said Cleigh, solemnly, "you appreciate the risks you are running?"

"Mr. Cleigh, there are no risks. It's a dead certainty. Cunningham is one of your efficiency experts. Everything has been thought of."

"Except fate," supplemented Cleigh.