naturally the skipping goone didn’t possess a lounge in any true ocean liner sense. but there was a rough space aft, out of which improvised sleeping quarters opened; and into this cabin, forlorn enough in itself, and lighted only by a couple of very smoky lamps, had been introduced certain truly voluptuous notes. there were benches with bright red cushions, and—yes, there actually was a piano. it seemed a wonderful thing indeed, coming upon a piano in such a dismal coop of a place. but there it was—a perky, cheap little upright, not quite full grown and apparently lined with tin. it was shabby and perky at the same time; mr. curry had purchased it at second hand, and it looked as though it had passed through rather a good many hands even before it reached the dealer at all. but it was still indomitable, and possessed a red felt scarf with an amazing border of yellow and green stitching. as for the “soft” pedal, it no longer worked; but the “loud” pedal was perfectly intact—and that, as the impresario joyously pointed out to miss valentine, was “just fifty per cent. better than no pedal of any description.”
round the piano they gathered after dinner and made as much merry noise as they could in an effort to keep their spirits from sagging. it was a very different picture from that framed by the tiny lone cabin where captain bearman, surrounded by august nautical implements and with the impressive book of the log spread open before him, sat busy with his finger nails, gnawing them in sullen solitude. the perky piano dominated another scene altogether. mr. curry himself sat at the piano, pounding with incorrigible cheerfulness. the drummer from kentucky had brought out his queer little old snare drum for the occasion—no room, alas, for the kinglier kettles here! and the temperamental violinist from vienna vigorously added his best technique to swell the melodic pleasures of the convivial hour.
the family of songbirds pressed close about them, bawling old comic songs and parodies at the top of their lungs,[83] laughing with many symptoms of hysteria, and having the gayest sort of time imaginable. yes, gayety was the rule and goal of the hour; and if any one, in a moment of unfortunate abstraction, had struck up home sweet home or rocked in the cradle of the deep there would have been a riot indeed. the offender would have been put right off the ship.
it was a glorious night—sheer and immortal—this first night at sea. all about spread darkness and lonely ocean, with stars burning dimly overhead. the stars looked down through empyreans of silence and saw the skipping goone nosing along under full sail with her romantic miscellany of merchandise and songbirds, dogged and unafraid, conquering through plain cheek. in the cabin with the smoky lamps the impresario and his children blithely challenged the elements to do their worst.
jerome, of course, was in the cabin with them. “lord, lord!” curry had exclaimed, his kindly face a real pageant of perplexity, “it’s just one of those things that happen. boy, it might be worse, though i guess you’re in for a little taste of the world, eh? you’ll have to take pot luck with us, but the lord knows you’re welcome!” in the midst of the spritely din jerome and lili were discussing the predicament.
“oh,” gurgled lili, “it will come out in all the papers: ‘last seen departing for girardin’s.’ what grand publicity—if you only needed it, like me! gawd knows i could use a little of that kind!” then she added: “how are you going to let them know where you are?”
it was a question indeed. the comedian cupped his hands and shouted across the hubbub: “write a note and put it in a bottle!” it would be somehow painfully appropriate—in a bottle—though the chances of delivery couldn’t be reckoned very brilliant.
jerome thought of his people—his home—saw everything perhaps more vividly than ever before in his life. if this amazing calamity hadn’t befallen him, where would he be[84] now? at the movies, probably. yes, he was pretty likely to be at the movies of an evening now that stella had slipped out of his life. it seemed unlikely he would ever have need of the movies again!
lili began singing along with the others, her strong and somewhat brazen voice entering in with irrepressible verve. jerome gazed at her. his heart grew furtively undaunted. as a matter of fact, before long the clerk was almost openly applauding his calamity. and then he even began looking upon it as something he had accomplished himself, in a sense. certainly nothing could have been accomplished without him.
he had been an obscure clerk, and was an obscure clerk no longer. what would come of all this in the end? perplexity held him in a rather shivery embrace. but lili slipped an affectionate arm through his and made him sway with her to the rhythm.
“you can’t have any of my peanuts,
when your peanuts are gone!”
she clapped time with her large, rather beautiful hands.
they romped from song to song, growing more abandoned all the time. “come on, now!” shouted the impresario joyously, dominating in his irresistible way even the deafening din about him. “strong on the chorus—swell out on the second bar, and then—piano—piano! tum te tum tum! now, then, all together:
‘little annie roonie is my sweetheart!’
bravo!”
