With the bawling of the men's
voices still in my ears, and with the pictures of their drink-puffed
and filthy faces still vivid under my eyelids, I found myself greeted
by a delicate-faced, prettily-gowned woman who sat beside a lacquered
oriental table on which rested an exquisite tea-service of Canton
china. All was repose and calm. The steward, noiseless-footed,
expressionless, was a shadow, scarcely noticed, that drifted into the
room on some service and drifted out again.
Not at once could I relax, and Miss West, serving my tea, laughed and
said:
"You look as if you had been seeing things. The steward tells me a
man has been overboard. I fancy the cold water must have sobered
him."
I resented her unconcern.
"The man is a lunatic," I said. "This ship is no place for him. He
should be sent ashore to some hospital."
"I am afraid, if we begin that, we'd have to send two-thirds of our
complement ashore--one lump?
"Yes, please," I answered. "But the man has terribly wounded
himself. He is liable to bleed to death.
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