long before the excitement over jerome had begun to abate, the cabin boy went about beating on a tom-tom, the summons being met by a mixed chorus of cheers and groans. there were those who had by this time settled down with white, set expressions, who wished the ship would sink, and rolled their eyes reproachfully; even a few had crawled into their bunks and would not be seen again. but there were also those for whom the sea would hold no discomfort unless it became unduly incensed; lili, anticipating trouble, was as yet carrying on serenely, while jerome, rather surprisingly, felt no symptoms at all—nothing but the sense of panic he dared not show. every time the schooner heeled over, jerome mentally gasped. but there was nothing to do but keep the grin active.
[81]
the saloon was not quite big enough comfortably to contain the table set to accommodate them all, and the cabin boy who waited had to squeeze a bit here and there. but nothing could daunt the blithe hilarity of the diners themselves, who thrust their legs in amongst wooden horses which formed the table’s sub-structure, and declared they’d never tasted anything half so good as the ship’s plain fare.
at the head of the table, looking exactly like an admiral, sat captain bearman. on his right was miss valentine, who could sing up to f, while on his left was the comfortable contralto. it was very delightfully arranged, and should have melted the stoniest heart; yet captain bearman, incessantly smoothing and fingering his flaming beard (parted in the middle and flying grandly two ways in an almost horizontal line) absolutely refused to unbend beyond ungracious monosyllables. people instinctively wanted to be impressed by him and take him for an admiral, yet he instinctively wouldn’t let them because of that fatal sense of his own inferiority.
at the foot of the table sat xenophon curry, his rings flashing and his smile, of such singular sweetness, making the whole place bright. yes, mr. curry had a wonderfully heartening and stabilizing influence. had he been a shade austere, or less impulsively open and human, he could never hope to lure out a flock of songbirds and flute players and cabaret violinists and snare drummers into the precarious bosom of an antique schooner on a world tour packed with the lord alone knew what.
lili had invited jerome to sit next her, and through dinner kept up an entrancing conversation with the clerk, constantly patting on the back that manly and dashing phase of his ego which insisted upon the deceptive grin, and which, in high-handed spurts of confidence, actually began convincing him that whatever might be the outcome he was glad to be right where he was! yes, glad this miracle had befallen him. glad he had been dumped into the supply closet. glad he was at sea—with lili!
