Chapter 15

A WARNING.

The storm that had come hissing across the Sound did not last long. Its very fierceness, it seemed, was its own undoing. Its frenzy soon passed. And anon the sun shone; the drooping flowers raised to it pitiful, bedraggled little faces; and from the fields, rose the burden of incense, moist, fragrant giving wet thanks of its coming and of its going.

Schuyler's farewells had been but tentative. It had been understood that, should the storm abate, Mrs. Schuyler, Muriel and Blake would follow on the next train; for he himself was forced by the exigency of his mission to reach the city at least two hours before sailing time.

The car, returning from the trip to the depot, was again called into service. Parks, as well, had waited, and went with them.

Reaching the city, Blake's machine, for which he had telephoned from Larchmont, was waiting; and in this they made the journey through the traffic-thronged New York streets, to the dock; a route that leads one from wealth to poverty, from respectability to license, from well--doing to ill-doing, and through all that lies between.

The dock, beside which lay tugging at her cables the huge liner, was confusion thrice confused. Jolting cabs, rattling taxis, smooth-running private cars, drays and vans, added to the tumult caused by the hundred-- the thousands--of hurrying, scurrying humanity. Came the calls of excited passengers, the rumbling of trucks, the Babel-like voices of emigrants; and, beyond, the noises of the Great River.

Alighting from the car at the gangway, they boarded the ship, with its crowded decks. Schuyler's stateroom was aft, in the center of the ship. It lay the first door to the right, as one enters the narrow passageway. To it the little party made its way.

The door of the room opposite was ajar. Blake noticed that there lay therein a great mass of crimson roses; scattered amid the toilet articles and accessories of a woman. Passing through the crowds of the deck, he had heard, also, The Man Who Knew telling another man, who did not know of Young Parmalee. It had been but a word. But it had been a word that had found fructification and meaning in the sight of a deck steward, with a bucket, mopping up something from the deck, just outside the little passageway.

Kathryn and Muriel, seen safely to the room that Schuyler was to occupy, Blake returned and made his way out upon the deck. He stood for a moment by the steward, watching him.

Then very quietly inquired:

"Where did it happen, Steward?"

The steward, wringing out the mop into the dark water of his bucket, looked up. There were beads of sweat upon his bronzed, wrinkled brow. Yet the day was not warm.

"Wot, sir?" he queried.

"Where did it happen?"

"Wot happen sir?"

"Young Parmalee's suicide." Blake spoke quietly, calmly.

The steward's eyes shifted.

"Suicide, sir?" he said. "Don't know nothink about it, gov'ner."

Blake pointed to the spot upon the deck.

"What's that, then?" he demanded.

The steward moved, uneasily.

"A spot I just be'n a-cleanin' of, gov'ner."

Blake pointed to the bucket.

"And that?" he persisted.

"Water, sir."

"And--?"

The steward slowly drew the back of his hand across dry lips. And then, in a swift rush of strangled words:

"Blood, gov'ner. Blood.... Only a boy he was, sir, and she looked down on him, laying there with his brains spattered on the deck and she laughed, sir.... God, sir! She laughed...." He struggled to his feet and pulled his forelock. He said in altered tones: "Beg pardon, sir. But a man can't be a blime machine all the time, sir."

There came a call from the state-room.

"Get that bucket away from here. Quick!" And Blake turned to meet the wife and child of his friend, as they came from the state-room.

"Oh, I do hope Jack won't be late," Kathryn remarked, scanning the decks.

Blake standing between her and the steward, returned with forced lightness:

"Oh, he has plenty of time. Half an hour at least. Why, once I lost fifty thousand in the market, broke my steering gear running over a fat policeman, was arrested, taken to court and bailed out and all within twenty minutes. Jack's got time to squander."

There was sadness in the violet eyes.

"It will be very lonely when he's gone--very lonely," she mused, slowly.

"Well, it will be as lonely for him as it will for you," Blake returned; "which is a doubtful consolation, but one that most women don't have."

Muriel had wandered to the rail.

"Oh, I see him!" she cried, suddenly. "There he is! Daddy! Daddy, dear! ... He's right there on the gangway--right behind that fat lady-- the one with the red nose. I'm going to meet him."

Sturdy little legs started to follow the summons of impulsive little brain. But her mother detained her.

"No, dearie," she objected. "You'll get lost He'll be here in a moment, now."

"Not unless he can get by that lady," protested the child. "He's--he's--"

"Pocketed is the word you want, Muriel," assisted Blake. He was looking in the direction which the child had indicated. Suddenly, he exclaimed:

"I see him now. He doesn't see us, though. Possibly he doesn't know where his stateroom is. These boats are very confusing. I'll go fetch him."

Blake disappeared in the throngs upon the deck. Muriel turned to her mother.

"Mother," she implored.

"Yes, dear?"

"Why can't we go, too, mother dear?"

"We must stay to care for Aunt Elinor."

"But she has a doctor and two nurses now," protested the child.

"But," returned her mother, smiling, "that isn't like one's own family."

The child was for a moment sunk deep in thought most serious.

"But why must both of us stay?" she asked, at length. Then, suddenly:

"Mother, dear!"

"Yes little sweetheart?"

"I'll match you to see which one of us goes!"

Mrs. Schuyler, surprised, smiled.

"Why, daughter! Wherever did you learn that?"

"I heard Mr. Tom and daddy the other night. They were sitting in the library, and Mr. Tom said, 'I'll match you to see who gets the cigars.' So, mother dear, I thought that you and I might match one another to see which of us could go with daddy."

Kathryn placed an arm about her, drawing her to her.

"Do you want to go with daddy--and leave mother?" she asked.

The child shook her head, doubtfully.

"No," she said, "not exactly.... I want to go with daddy. I love daddy. But I want to stay with you, too, mother dear.... Mother dear," she added suddenly.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Wouldn't it be nice if we were both twins! Then half of us could go with daddy, and the other half of us stay at home with Aunt Elinor."