CHAPTER III
ON THE RE D'ITALIA
The sailing of the _Re d'Italia_ was scheduled for 3 P.M. promptly, butbeing well acquainted with the ways of steamers at most times, above allin these piping times of war, it was not until an hour later than I leftthe St. Ives, where the manager, by the way, did not appear to bid mefarewell.
The thermometer had been falling, and the day was crisp and snappy, witha light powdering of snow underfoot and a blue tang and sparkle in theair. Dunny accompanied me in the taxicab, but was less talkative thanusual. Indeed, he spoke only two or three times between the hotel andthe pier.
"I say, Dev," was his first contribution to the conversation,"d' you remember it was at a dock that you and I first met? It wasnight, blacker than Tophet, and raining, and you came ashore wet as arag. You were the lonesomest, chilliest, most forlorn little tike I eversaw; but, by the eternal, you were trying not to cry!"
"Lonesome? I rather think so!" I echoed with conviction. "Wynne and hiswife brought me over; he played poker all the way, and she read novelsin her berth. And I heard every one say that I was an orphan, and it wasvery, very sad. Well, I was never lonely after that, Dunny." My hand methis half-way.
The next time that he broke silence was upon the ferry, when he urged onme a fat wallet stuffed with plutocratic-looking notes.
"In case anything should happen," ran his muttered explanation. I havenever needed Dunny's money,--his affection is another matter,--but hecan spare it, and this time I took it because I saw he wanted me to.
As we approached the Jersey City piers, he seemed to shrink and growtired, to take on a good ten years beyond his hale and hearty age. Withevery glance I stole at him a lump in my throat grew bigger, and in theend, bending forward, I laid a hand on his knee.
"Look here, Dunny," I demanded, not looking at him, "do you mean halfof what you were saying last evening--or the hundredth part? After all,there'll be a chance to fight here before we're many months older. Ifyou just say the word, old fellow, I'll be with you to-night--and hangthe trip!"
But Dunny, though he wrung my hand gratefully and choked and glared outof the window, would hear of no such arrangement, repudiated it, indeed,with scorn.
"No, my boy," he declared. "I don't say it for a minute. I like yourgoing. I wouldn't give a tinker's dam for you, whatever that is, if youdidn't want to do something for those fellows over there. I won't evensay to be careful, for you can't if you do your duty--only, don't you betoo all-fired foolhardy, even for war medals, Dev."
"Oh, I was born to be hanged, not shot," I assured him, almostprophetically. "I'll take care of myself, and I'll write you now andthen--"
"No, you won't!" he snorted, with a skepticism amply justified by thepast. "And if you did, I shouldn't answer; I hate letters, always did.But you cable me once a fortnight to let me know you're living--and sendan extra cable if you want anything on earth!"
The taxi, which had been crawling, came to a final halt, and a hungryhorde, falling on my impedimenta, lowered them from the driver's seat.
"No, I'll not come on board, Dev," said my guardian. "I--I couldn'tstand it. Good-by, my dear boy."
We clasped hands again; then I felt his arm resting on my shoulder, andflung both of mine about him in an old-time, boyish hug.
"_Au revoir_, Dunny. Back next year," I shouted cheerily as the driverthrew in his clutch and the car glided on its way.
Preceded by various porters, I threaded my way at a snail's pace throughthe dense crowd of waiting passengers, swarthy-faced sons of Italy,apparently bound for the steerage. The great gray bulk of the _Red'Italia_ loomed before me, floating proudly at her stern the green,white, and red flag blazoned with the Savoyard shield.
"Wave while they let you," I apostrophized it, saluting. "When we getoutside the three-mile limit and stop courting notice, you'll not flylong."
At the gang-plank I was halted, and I produced my passport and exhibitedthe _vise_ of his excellency, the Italian consul-general in New York.I strolled aboard, was assigned to Cabin D, and informed by my stewardthat there were in all but five first-class passengers, a piece of newsthat left me calm. Stodgy I may be,--it was odd how that term of Dunny'srankled,--but I confess that I find chance traveling acquaintancesboring and avoid them when I can. Unlike most of my countrymen, Isuppose I am not gregarious, though I dine and week-end punctiliously,send flowers and leave cards at decorous intervals, and know people allthe way from New York to Tokio.
My carefully limited baggage looked lonely in my cabin; I missed theparaphernalia with which one usually begins a trip. Also, as I rummagedthrough two bags to find the cap I wanted, I longed for Peters, myfaithful man, who could be backed to produce any desired thing at amoment's notice. When bound for Flanders or the Vosges, however, onemust be a Spartan. I found what I sought at last and went on deck.
The scene, though cheerful, was not lacking in wartime features: Arow of life-boats hung invitingly ready; a gun, highly dramatic inappearance, was mounted astern, with every air of meaning businessshould the kaiser meddle with us en route. Down below, the Italians,talking, gesticulating, showing their white teeth in flashing, boyishsmiles, were being herded docilely on board, while at intervals one oranother of the few promenade-deck passengers appeared.
The first of these, a shrewd-faced, nervous little man, borrowed anunneeded match of me and remarked that it was cold weather for spring.The next, a good-looking young foreigner,--a reservist, I surmised,recalled to the Italian colors in this hour of his country'sneed,--rather harrowed my feelings by coming on board with a familyparty, gray-haired father, anxious mother, slim bride-like wife, and twobrothers or cousins, all making pathetic pretense at good cheer. Soonafter came a third man, dark, quiet, watchful-looking, and personableenough, although his shoes were a little too gleamingly polished, hiswatch and chain a little too luminously golden, the color scheme of hishose and tie selected with almost too much care.
"This," I reflected resignedly, "is going to be a ghastly trip. By Jove,here comes another! Now where have I seen her before?"
The new arrival, as indicated by the pronoun, was a woman; though whyone should tempt Providence by traveling on this route at this juncture,I found it hard to guess. Standing with her back to me, enveloped in acoat of sealskin with a broad collar of darker fur, well gloved, smartlyshod, crowned by a fur hat with a gold cockade, she made a delightfulpicture as she rummaged in a bag which reposed upon a steamer-chair, andwhich, thus opened, revealed a profusion of gold mountings, bottles andbrushes, hand-chased and initialed in an opulent way.
There was a haunting familiarity about her. She teased my memory asI strolled up the deck. Then, snapping the bag shut, she turned andstraightened, and I recognized the girl to whose door my thief-chase hadled me at the St. Ives.
It seemed rather a coincidence my meeting her again.
"I shouldn't mind talking to you on this trip," I reflected, mollified."The mischief of it is you'll notice me about as much as you notice theship's stokers. You're not the sort to scrape acquaintance, or else Imiss my shot!"
I did not miss it. So much was instantly proved. As I passed her, on themere chance that she might elect to acknowledge our encounter, I letmy gaze impersonally meet hers. She started slightly. Evidently sheremembered. But she turned toward the nearest door without a bow.
The dark, too-well-groomed man was emerging as she advanced. Insteadof moving back, he blocked her path, looking--was it appraisingly,expectantly?--into her eyes. There was a pause while she waited ratherhaughtily for passage; then he effaced himself, and she disappeared.
Striking a match viciously, I lit a cigarette and strolled forward.Either the fellow had fancied that he knew her or he had behaved ina confoundedly impertinent way. The latter hypothesis seemed, on thewhole, the more likely, and I felt a lively desire to drop him over therail.
"But I don't know what a girl of your looks expects, I'm sure," Igrumbled, "setting off on your travels with no chaperon and no companionand
no maid! Where are your father and mother? Where are your brothers?Where's the old friend of the family who dined with you last night? Ifchaps who have no right to walk the same earth with you get insolent,who is going to teach them their place, and who is going to take care ofyou if a U-boat pops out of the sea? Oh, well, never mind. It isn't anyof my business. But just the same if you need my services, I think I'lltackle the job."
Time was passing; night had fallen. Consulting my watch, I found that itwas seven o'clock. I had been aboard more than two hours. An afternoonsailing, quotha! At this rate we would be lucky if we got off by dawn.
The dinner gong, a welcome diversion, summoned us below to lights andwarmth. At one table the young Italian entertained his relatives, and atanother the captain, a short, swart-faced, taciturn being, had groupedhis officers and various officials of the steamship company at afarewell feast. The little sharp-faced passenger was throned elsewherein lonely splendor, but when I selected a fourth table, he jumped up,crossed over and installed himself as my vis-a-vis. Passing me the salt,which I did not require, he supplied with it some personal data of whichI felt no greater need. His name was McGuntrie, he announced; he wassales agent for the famous Phillipson Rifles and was being dispatched tosecure a gigantic contract on the other side.
"And if inside six months you don't see three hundred thousand Italiansoldiers carrying Phillipson's best," he informed me, "I'll take a backseat and let young Jim Furman, who thinks I'm a has-been and he's theone white hope, begin to draw my pay. You can't beat those rifles. Whenthe boys get to carrying them, old Francis Joseph's ghost'll weep. Pity,ain't it, we didn't get on board by noon?" he digressed sociably. "Icould've found something to do ashore the four hours I've been twiddlingmy thumbs here, and I guess you could too. Hardest, though, on ourfriends the newspaper boys. Did you know they were out there waiting totake a flashlight film? Fact. They do it nowadays every time a big linerleaves. Then if we sink, all they have to do is run it, with 'DoomedShip Leaving New York Harbor' underneath."
To his shocked surprise I laughed at the information. My appetitewas unimpaired as I pursued my meal. Trains in which others ride maytelescope and steamers may take one's acquaintances to watery graves,but to normal people the chance of any catastrophe overtaking thempersonally must always seem gratifyingly far-fetched and vague.
"Think it's funny, do you?" my new friend reproached me. "Well, I don't;and neither did the folks who had cabins taken and who threw them uplast week when they heard how the _San Pietro_ went down on this sameroute. We're five plumb idiots--that's what we are--five crazy lunatics!I'd never have come a step, not with wild horses dragging me if ithadn't been for Jim Furman being pretty near popeyed, looking for achance to cut me out and sail. We've got fifteen hundred reservistsdownstairs, and a cargo of contraband. What do you know about that as aprize for a submarine?"
"Well," I said vaingloriously. "I can swim."
My eyes were wandering, for the girl in the fur coat had entered, withthe dark, watchful-eyed man--was it pure coincidence?--close behind. Thesteward ushered her to a table; the man followed at her heels. I daresay I glared. I know my muscles stiffened. The fellow was going to speakto her. What in blazes did he mean by stalking her in this way?
"Excuse me," he was saying, "but haven't we met before?"
The girl straightened into rigidness, looking him over. Her manner washaughty, her ruddy head poised stiffly, as she answered in a cold tone:
"No."
He was watching her keenly.
"My name's John Van Blarcom," he persisted.
Again she gave him that sweeping glance.
"You are mistaken," she said indifferently. "I have not seen youbefore."
He nodded curtly.
"My mistake," he admitted. "I thought I knew you," and turning from her,he sat down at the one table still unoccupied.
"So his name's Van Blarcom," whispered my ubiquitous neighbor. "And theItalian chap over there is Pietro Ricci. The steward told me so. And thecaptain's name is Cecchi; get it? And I know your name, too, Mr. Bayne,"he added with a grin. "The steward didn't know what was taking you over,but I guess I've got your number all right. Say, ain't you a flying manor else one of the American-Ambulance boys?"
I mustered the feeble parry that I had stopped being a boy of any sortsome time ago. Then lest he wring from me my age, birthplace, and theamount of my income tax, I made an end of my meal.
On deck again I wondered at my irritation, my sense of restlessness.The little salesman was not responsible, though he had fretted me likea buzzing fly. It was rather that I had taken an intense dislike to theman calling himself Van Blarcom; that the girl, despite her haughtiness,had somehow given me an impression of uneasiness--of fear almost--as shesaw him approach and heard him speak; and above all, that I shouldhave liked to flay alive the person or persons who had let her sailunaccompanied for a zone which at this moment was the danger point ofthe seas.
My matter-of-fact, conservatively ordered life had been given a crazytwist at the St. Ives. As an aftermath of that episode I wasprobably scenting mysteries where there were none. Nevertheless, Iwondered--though I called myself a fool for it--if any more queerthings would happen before this ship on which we five bold voyagers wereconfined should reach the other side.
They did.
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