CHAPTER XV
THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER
Drew placed his own chair close beside Ruth's--as close as he dared.And they talked.
There was something in the witchery of that moonlit night that seemedto remove certain restraints and reserves imposed by the cold light ofday, and they spoke more freely of their lives and hopes and ambitionsthan would have been possible a few hours earlier.
The girl told of the main events that had filled her nineteen years oflife. Her voice was tender when she spoke of her mother, whose memoryremained with her as a benediction. After she had been deprived bydeath of this gentle presence, she, Ruth, had stayed with relatives inSanta Barbara and Los Angeles during her vacations and had passed therest of her time at boarding school. She had neither sister norbrother, and she spoke feelingly of this lack, which had become morepoignant since her mother's death. She had felt lonely and restless,and the bright spots in her life had been those which were made for herby the return of her father from his voyages.
Of her father she spoke with enthusiasm. Nobody could have been morethoughtful of her comfort and happiness than he had been. The factthat they were all that were left of their family, had made them themore dependent for their happiness on each other, and the affectionbetween them was very strong.
It had been her dearest wish that he should be able to retire from thesea entirely, so that she could make a home for him ashore. As far asmeans went, she supposed he was able to give up his vocation now if hechose. But he was still in the prime of health and vigor, and she hadlittle doubt that the sea--that jealous mistress--would beckon to himfor years to come.
This time she could not bear being left behind, and as the voyagepromised to be a short one, he had yielded to her persuasions to betaken along.
Drew listened with the deepest sympathy and interest, watching the playof emotion that accompanied her words and made her mobile features evenmore charming than usual.
Encouraged by her confidences, he in turn told her of his experiencesand ambitions. He could scarcely remember his parents, and to thisdegree his life had been even more lonely than her own. He had come tothe city from an inland town in New York State when he was but littleover seventeen, and had secured a position in the chandlery shop. Hehad worked hard and had gained the confidence and good will of hisemployer, of whose goodness of heart he spoke in the warmest terms.His own feeling for Tyke, he explained, was what he imagined he wouldhave felt for his father if the latter had lived. He had felt that hewas progressing, and had been fairly content until lately.
But now--and his voice took on a tone that stirred Ruth as shelistened--he had been shaken entirely out of that contentment. He hadsuddenly realized that life held more than he had ever dreamed. Therewas something new and rich and vital in it, something full of promiseand enchantment, something that he must have, something that he wouldgive his soul to get.
He had grown so earnest as he talked, so compelling, his eyes so glowedwith fire and feeling, that Ruth, though thrilled, felt almostfrightened at his intensity. She knew perfectly well what he meant,knew that he was wooing her with all his heart and soul. And theknowledge was sweet to her.
But he had come too far and fast in his wooing, and she was not yet atthe height of her own emotion. To be sure, he had attracted herstrongly from the very first. From the day when she had met him on thepier, she had thought often of the gallant young knight who had aidedher in her emergency, and his delight when he had found her on herfather's ship had been only a shade greater than her own.
But, although her heart was in a tumult and she secretly welcomed hisadvances, she did not want to be carried off her feet by the sheerardor of his passion. She wanted to study him, to know him better, andto know her own feelings. She was not to be won too easily andquickly. An obscure virginal instinct rather resented the excessivesureness of this impetuous suitor.
So she roused herself from the soft languor into which the moonlightand his burning words had plunged her, and rallied, jested and parried,until, despite his efforts, the conversation took a lighter tone.
"You've made quite an impression on daddy," she laughed. "He thinks itwas wonderfully clever of you to get at the meaning of that map and theconfession as quickly as you did."
"I'm glad if he likes me," Drew answered. "I may have to ask himsomething important before long, and it will be a good thing to standwell with him."
"He'll be on your side," she replied lightly. "I wouldn't dare tellyou all the nice things he has said about you. It might make youconceited, and goodness knows----"
"Am I conceited?" he asked quickly.
"All men are," she answered evasively.
"I don't think I am," he protested. "As a matter of fact, I'm veryhumble. I find myself wondering all the time if I am worthy."
"Worthy of what?" she asked.
"Worthy of getting what I want," he answered.
"The doubloons?" she asked mischievously. "Dear me! I can hardlyimagine you in a humble role. To see the confident Mr. Drew in such amood would certainly be refreshing."
"Don't call me Mr. Drew," he protested. "It sounds so formal. We'regoing to be so like one big family on this ship for the next few weeksthat it seems to me we might cut out some of the formality withouthurting anything."
"What shall I call you then?" she asked demurely.
"There are lots of things that I should like to have you call me if Idared suggest them," he replied. "But for the present, suppose youcall me Allen."
"Very well, then--Allen," she conceded.
His pulses leaped.
"I don't suppose I'd dare go further and beg permission to call youRuth?" he hazarded.
"Make it Miss Ruth," she teased.
"No, Ruth," he persisted.
"Oh, well," she yielded, "I suppose you'll have to have it your ownway. It's frightful to have to deal with such an obstinate man as youare, Mr.--Allen."
"It's delightful to have to deal with such a charming girl as you are,Miss--Ruth."
They laughed happily.
"It's getting late," she said, drawing herself up out of the warm nestthat Drew had made for her, "and I think I really ought to go below."
"Don't go yet," he begged. "It isn't a bit late."
"How late is it?" she asked.
He drew out his watch and looked at it in the moonlight.
"I told you it wasn't late," he declared, putting the watch back in hispocket.
"You don't dare let me look at it," she laughed.
"It must be fast," he affirmed.
"You're a deceiver," she retorted. "Really I must go. You wouldn'trob me of my beauty sleep, would you?"
"Leave that to other girls," he suggested. "You don't need it."
"You're a base flatterer," she chided.
Drew reluctantly gathered up her wraps, and, with a last lingering lookat the glory of the sea and sky, they went below.
It was not really necessary for him to take her hand as they parted forthe night, but he did so.
"Good night, Ruth," he said softly.
"Good night--Allen," she answered in a low voice.
His eyes held hers for a moment, and then she vanished.
It was the happiest night that Drew had ever known. He had opened hisheart to her--not so far as he would have liked and dared, but as faras she had permitted him. And in the soft beauty of her eyes hethought that he had detected the beginnings of what he wanted to findthere. And she had permitted him to call her "Ruth." And she hadcalled him "Allen." How musical the name sounded, coming from her lips!
It was fortunate that he had the memory of that night to comfort him inthe days that followed.
Ruth was more distracting than ever the next morning when she appeared,fresh and radiant, at the breakfast table. But in some impalpable wayshe seemed to have withdrawn within herself. Perhaps she felt that shehad let herself go too far in the glamour of the moonlight.
She was, if anyt
hing, gayer than before, full of bright quips andsayings that kept them laughing, but she distributed her favorsimpartially to all. And she was blandly unresponsive to Drew's effortsto monopolize her attentions.
It was so all through that day and the next. There was nothing abouther that was stiff or repellant, but, nevertheless, Drew felt that shewas keeping him at arm's length. It was as though she had servednotice that she would be a jolly comrade, but nothing more.
Poor Drew, unused to the ways of women, could not understand her. Hetried again and again to get her by herself, in the hope that he mightregain the ground that seemed to be slipping away from under him. Butshe seemed to have developed a sudden fondness for the society of herfather and Grimshaw, and she managed in some way to include one or bothof them in the walks and chats that Drew sought to make exclusive.
Then, too, there was Parmalee.
That young man fully recovered from his seasickness after the third dayout and resumed his place in the life of the ship.
Ruth had been full of solicitude and attentions during his illness, andwhen he again took his place at table, she expressed her pleasure witha warmth that Drew felt was unnecessary. His own congratulations weremuch more formal.
Parmalee seemed to feel that he had appeared somewhat at a disadvantagein succumbing to the illness which the others had escaped, and thefeeling put him on his mettle. He made special efforts to be genialand companionable, and his conversation sparkled with jests andepigrams. He could talk well; and even Drew had to admit to himselfgrudgingly that the other young man was brilliant.
Ruth, always fond of reading, had turned to books in her lonelinessafter her mother's death and had read widely for a girl of nineteen,and their familiarity with literature made a common ground on which sheand Parmalee could meet with interest. He had brought along quite anumber of volumes which he offered to lend to Ruth and to Drew.
Ruth thanked him prettily and accepted. Drew thanked him cooly anddeclined.
All three were sitting on deck one afternoon, while Tyke and thecaptain talked earnestly apart. Ruth's dainty fingers were busy withsome bit of embroidery. Her eyes were bent on her work, but the eyesof the young men rested on her. And both were thinking that the objectof their gaze was well worth looking at.
Ruth herself knew perfectly well the attraction she exerted. And shewould have been less than human if she had not been pleased with it.What girl of nineteen would not enjoy the homage of a Viking and atroubadour?
She was not a coquette, but there was a certain satisfaction that shecould not wholly deny herself in playing one off against the other. Itwould do Drew no harm to make him a little less sure of himself and ofher. In her heart she liked his Lochinvar methods, while, at the sametime, she rather resented them. She was no cave woman, to be draggedoff at will by a determined lover.
She had a real liking for Parmalee. He was suave, polished anddeferential. His attentions gallant without being obtrusive, and hisgeniality and culture made him a very pleasant companion.
"We're like the Argonauts going out after the Golden Fleece," Parmaleewas remarking.
"Yes," Ruth smiled, looking up from her work, "it doesn't seem asthough this were the twentieth century at all. Here we are, as muchadventurers as they were in the old times of Jason and his companions."
"Let's hope we'll be as lucky as they were," said Drew. "If I rememberrightly, they got what they went after."
"And yet when they started out they weren't a bit more sure than weare," rejoined Parmalee.
"And we won't find any old dragon waiting to swallow us, as they did,"laughed Ruth.
"Well, whether we find the treasure or not, we'll have plenty of fun inhunting for it," prophesied Parmalee. "Somehow, I feel that we are onthe brink of a great adventure. I think I know something of thefeeling of the old explorers when they first came down to these parts.Do you remember the way Keats describes it, Miss Ruth?"
"I don't recall," answered Ruth.
"I'll go and get the book. I have it in my cabin. Or wait. Perhaps Ican remember the way it goes." He paused a moment, and then began:
"Then feel I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific--and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise-- Silent, upon a peak in Darien."
"What noble verse!" exclaimed Ruth.
Drew remained silent.
"The very air of these southern seas is full of romance," went onParmalee. "And of tradition too. Have you ever heard the story ofDrake's drum?"
"What is it?" asked Ruth.
"The old drum of Sir Francis Drake that called his men to battle isstill preserved in the family castle in England," explained Parmalee."It went with him on all his voyages. It beat the men to quarters inthe fight with the Spanish Armada and in all his battles on the SpanishMain, when, to use his own words, he was 'singeing the whiskers of theKing of Spain.' He was buried at sea in the West Indies, and the drumbeat taps when his body was lowered into the waves.
"The story goes that when Drake was dying he ordered that the drumshould be sent back to England. Whenever the country should be inmortal danger, his countrymen were to beat that drum, and Drake'sspirit would come back and lead them to victory."
"And have they ever done it?" asked Ruth, intensely interested.
"Twice," replied Parmalee. "Once when the Dutch fleet entered theThames with a broom at the masthead to show that they were going tosweep the British from the seas. They beat it again when Nelson brokethe sea power of Napoleon at Trafalgar.
"Here's what an English writer supposes Drake to have said when he wasdying:
'Take my drum to England, hang it by the shore, Strike it when your powder's running low; If the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port of heaven And drum them up the Channel, as we drummed them long ago.'"
"How stirring that is!" cried Ruth, clapping her hands.
"Yes," admitted Drew, a little dryly. "They must have forgotten tobeat it though at the time of the American Revolution."
It was a discordant note and all felt it.
"Oh, how horrid of you!" exclaimed Ruth. "You take all the romance outof the story."
"I'm sorry," said Drew, instantly penitent.
"I don't believe you are a bit," declared Ruth. "And Mr. Parmalee toldthat story so beautifully," she added, with a wicked little desire topunish Drew.
"Cross my heart and hope to die," protested Drew, to appease hisdivinity. "Put any penance on me you like. I'll sit in sackcloth andput ashes on my head if you say so, and you'll never hear a whimper."
"He seems to be suffering horribly," said Parmalee, a bitsarcastically, "and you know, Miss Ruth, that cruel and unusualpunishments are forbidden by the Constitution. I think you'd betterforgive him."
Ruth laughed and the tension was broken. But there was still a littlefeeling of restraint, and after a few minutes Parmalee excused himselfand strolled away.
Ruth kept on stitching busily, her face bent studiously over her work.
Drew looked at her miserably, bitterly regretting the momentary impulseto which he had yielded. He knew in his heart that he had been jealousof the impression that Parmalee, by his easy and graceful narration,had seemed to be making on Ruth, and he hated himself for it.
"Ruth," he said softly.
She seemed not to have heard him.
"Ruth," he repeated.
"Yes?" she answered, but without looking up.