CHAPTER XLI
MR. AND MRS. WATSON OF NEW YORK
It was their third day out, and Mr. Sabin was enjoying the voyage verymuch indeed. The _Calipha_ was a small boat sailing to Boston instead ofNew York, and contemptuously termed by the ocean-going public an oldtub. She carried, consequently, only seven passengers besides Mr. Sabin,and it had taken him but a very short time to decide that of those sevenpassengers not one was interested in him or his affairs. He had gotclear away, for the present at any rate, from all the complications anddangers which had followed upon the failure of his great scheme. Ofcourse by this time the news of his departure and destination was knownto every one whom his movements concerned. That was almost a matter ofcourse, and realising even the impossibility of successful concealment,Mr. Sabin had made no attempt at any. He had given the name of Sabin tothe steward, and had secured the deck's cabin for his own use. Hechatted every day with the captain, who treated him with respect, and inreply to a question from one of the stewards who was a Frenchman, headmitted that he was the Duc de Souspennier, and that he was travellingincognito only as a whim. He was distinctly popular with every one ofthe seven passengers, who were a little doubtful how to address him,but whom he succeeded always in putting entirely at their ease. Heentered, too, freely into the little routine of steamer life. He playedshuffleboard for an hour or more every morning, and was absolutelyinvincible at the game; he brought his golf clubs on deck one eveningafter dinner, and explained the manner of their use to an admiringlittle circle of the seven passengers, the captain, and doctor. Herigorously supported the pool each day, and he even took a hand at amild game of poker one wet afternoon, when timidly invited to do soby Mr. Hiram Shedge, an oil merchant of Boston. He had in no way thedeportment or manner of a man who had just passed through a greatcrisis, nor would any one have gathered from his conversation ordemeanour that he was the head of one of the greatest houses in Europeand a millionaire. The first time a shadow crossed his face was late oneafternoon, when, coming on deck a little behind the others after lunch,he found them all leaning over the starboard bow, gazing intently atsome object a little distance off, and at the same time became awarethat the engines had been put to half-speed.
He was strolling towards the little group, when the captain, seeing him,beckoned him on to the bridge.
"Here's something that will interest you, Mr. Sabin," he called out."Won't you step this way?"
Mr. Sabin mounted the iron steps carefully but with his eyes turnedseawards; a large yacht of elegant shape and painted white from sternto bows was lying-to about half a mile off flying signals.
Mr. Sabin reached the bridge and stood by the captain's side.
"A pleasure yacht," he remarked. "What does she want?"
"I shall know in a moment," the captain answered with his glass to hiseye. "She flew a distress signal at first for us to stand by, so Isuppose she's in trouble. Ah! there it goes. 'Mainshaft broken,' shesays."
"She doesn't lie like it," Mr. Sabin remarked quietly.
The captain looked at him with a smile.
"You know a bit about yachting too," he said, "and, to tell you thetruth, that's just what I was thinking."
"Holmes."
"Yes, sir."
"Ask her what she wants us to do."
The signalman touched his hat, and the little row of flags ranfluttering up in the breeze.
"She signals herself the _Mayflower_, private yacht, owner Mr. JamesWatson of New York," he remarked. "She's a beautiful boat."
Mr. Sabin, who had brought his own glasses, looked at her long andsteadily.
"She's not an American built boat, at any rate," he remarked.
An answering signal came fluttering back. The captain opened his bookand read it.
"She's going on under canvas," he said, "but she wants us to take herowner and his wife on board."
"Are you compelled to do so?" Mr. Sabin asked.
The captain laughed.
"Not exactly! I'm not expected to pick up passengers in mid ocean."
"Then I shouldn't do it," Mr. Sabin said. "If they are in a hurry the_Alaska_ is due up to-day, isn't she? and she'll be in New York in threedays, and the _Baltimore_ must be close behind her. I should let themknow that."
"Well," the captain answered, "I don't want fresh passengers botheringjust now."
The flags were run up, and the replies came back as promptly. Thecaptain shut up his glass with a bang.
"No getting out of them," he remarked to Mr. Sabin. "They reply that thelady is nervous and will not wait; they are coming on board at once--forfear I should go on, I suppose. They add that Mr. Watson is the largestAmerican holder of Cunard stock and a director of the American Board, sohave them we must--that's pretty certain. I must see the purser."
He descended, and Mr. Sabin, following him, joined the little group ofpassengers. They all stood together watching the long rowing boat whichwas coming swiftly towards them through the smooth sea. Mr. Sabinexplained to them the messages which had passed, and together theyadmired the disabled yacht.
Mr. Sabin touched the first mate on the arm as he passed.
"Did you ever see a vessel like that, Johnson?" he remarked.
The man shook his head.
"Their engineer is a fool, sir!" he declared scornfully. "Nothing but myown eyes would make me believe there's anything serious the matter withher shaft."
"I agree with you," Mr. Sabin said quietly.
The boat was now within hailing distance. Mr. Sabin leaned down over theside and scanned its occupants closely. There was nothing in the leastsuspicious about them. The man who sat in the stern steering was atypical American, with thin sallow face and bright eyes. The womanwore a thick veil, but she was evidently young, and when she stood updisplayed a figure and clothes distinctly Parisian. The two came up theladder as though perfectly used to boarding a vessel in mid ocean, andthe lady's nervousness was at least not apparent. The captain advancedto meet them, and gallantly assisted the lady on to the deck.
"This is Captain Ackinson, I presume," the man remarked with extendedhand. "We are exceedingly obliged to you, sir, for taking us off. Thisis my wife, Mrs. James B. Watson."
Mrs. Watson raised her veil, and disclosed a dark, piquant face withwonderfully bright eyes.
"It's real nice of you, Captain," she said frankly. "You don't know howgood it is to feel the deck of a real ocean-going steamer beneath yourfeet after that little sailing boat of my husband's. This is the verylast time I attempt to cross the Atlantic except on one of yoursteamers."
"We are very glad to be of any assistance," the captain answered, moreheartily than a few minutes before he would have believed possible."Full speed ahead, John!"
There was a churning of water and dull throb of machinery restarting.The little rowing boat, already well away on its return journey, rockedon the long waves. Mr. Watson turned to shout some final instructions.Then the captain beckoned to the purser.
"Mr. Wilson will show you your state rooms," he remarked. "Fortunatelywe have plenty of room. Steward, take the baggage down."
The lady went below, but Mr. Watson remained on deck talking to thecaptain. Mr. Sabin strolled up to them.
"Your yacht rides remarkably well, if her shaft is really broken," heremarked.
Mr. Watson nodded.
"She's a beautifully built boat," he remarked with enthusiasm. "If theweather is favourable her canvas will bring her into Boston Harbour twodays after us."
"I suppose," the captain asked, looking at her through his glass, "yousatisfied yourself that her shaft was really broken?"
"I did not, sir," Mr. Watson answered. "My engineer reported it so, and,as I know nothing of machinery myself, I was content to take his word.He holds very fine diplomas, and I presume he knows what he is talkingabout. But anyway Mrs. Watson would never have stayed upon that boat onemoment longer than she was compelled. She's a wonderfully nervous womanis Mrs. Watson."
"That's a somewhat unusual trait fo
r your countrywoman, is it not?" Mr.Sabin asked.
Mr. J. B. Watson looked steadily at his questioner.
"My wife, sir," he said, "has lived for many years on the Continent. Shewould scarcely consider herself an American."
"I beg your pardon," Mr. Sabin remarked courteously. "One can see atleast that she has acquired the polish of the only habitable countryin the world. But if I had taken the liberty of guessing at hernationality, I should have taken her to be a German."
Mr. Watson raised his eyebrows, and somehow managed to drop the match hewas raising to his cigar.
"You astonish me very much, sir," he remarked. "I always looked upon thefair, rotund woman as the typical German face."
Mr. Sabin shook his head gently.
"There are many types," he said "and nationality, you know, does notalways go by complexion or size. For instance, you are very like manyAmerican gentlemen whom I have had the pleasure of meeting, but at thesame time I should not have taken you for an American."
The captain laughed.
"I can't agree with you, Mr. Sabin," he said. "Mr. Watson appears tome to be, if he will pardon my saying so, the very type of the modernAmerican man."
"I'm much obliged to you, Captain," Mr. Watson said cheerfully. "I'm aBoston man, that's sure, and I believe, sir, I'm proud of it. I want toknow for what nationality you would have taken me if you had not beeninformed?"
"I should have looked for you also," Mr. Sabin said deliberately, "inthe streets of Berlin."