Part 12 (1/2)
In the evening, Mrs. Hastings, with whom he was evidently a favorite, happened to speak of Wyllard, and the efforts he was making in the steerage, and Agatha asked a question.
”Does he often undertake this kind of thing?”
”No,” Mrs. Hastings answered with a smile. ”Any way, not on so large a scale. He's very far from setting up as a professional philanthropist, my dear. I don't remember his offering to point out duty to other folks, and I don't think he goes about in search of an opportunity of benefiting humanity. Still, when an individual case thrusts itself beneath his nose, he generally does what he can.”
”I've heard people say that the individual method only perpetuates the trouble,” remarked Agatha.
Mrs Hastings shook her head. ”That,” she said, ”is a subject I'm not well posted on, but it seems to me that if other folks only adopted Harry Wyllard's simple plan, there would be considerably less need for organized charity.”
CHAPTER IX
THE FOG
During the next two days before a moderate gale the _Scarrowmania_ shouldered her way westwards through the big, white-topped combers that rolled down upon her under a lowering sky. There were no luxurious, steam-propelled hotels in the Canadian trade at this time, and loaded deep with railway metal as she was, the vessel slopped in the green seas everywhere, and rolled her streaming sides out almost to her bilge. She s.h.i.+vered and rattled horribly when her single screw swung clear and the tri-compound engines ran away.
Wyllard went down to the steerage every now and then, and Agatha, who contrived to keep on her feet, not infrequently accompanied him. She was glad of his society, for Mrs. Hastings was seldom in evidence, and no efforts could get Miss Rawlinson out of her berth. The gale blew itself out at length, and the evening after it moderated Agatha was sitting near the head of one fiddle-guarded table in the saloon waiting for dinner, which the stewards had still some difficulty in bringing in.
Wyllard's place was next to hers, but he had not appeared, nor had the skipper, who, however, did not invariably dine with the pa.s.sengers. One of the two doors which led from the foot of the branching companion stairway into either side of the saloon stood open, and presently she saw Wyllard standing just outside it.
He beckoned to the doctor, who sat at the foot of her table, and the physician merely raised his brows a trifle. He was a rather consequential person, and it was evident to the girl that he resented being summoned by a gesture. She did not think anybody else had noticed Wyllard, and she waited with some curiosity to see what he would do. He made a sign with a lifted hand, and she felt that the doctor would obey it, as, in fact, he did, though his manner was very far from conciliatory. By dint of listening closely, she could hear their conversation.
”I'm sorry to trouble you just now,” apologized Wyllard, ”and I didn't come in because that would have set everybody wondering what you were wanted for; but one of those boys forward has been thrown down the ladder, and has cut his head.”
”Ah!” said the doctor. ”I'll see to him--after dinner.”
”It's a nasty cut,” declared Wyllard. ”He's losing a good deal of blood.”
”Then I would suggest that you apply to my a.s.sistant.”
”As I don't know where he is, I have come to you.”
The doctor made a sign of impatience. ”Well,” he said ”you have told me, which I think is as far as your concern in the matter goes. I may add that I'm not accustomed to dictation on behalf of a steerage pa.s.senger.”
Agatha saw Wyllard slip between the doctor and the entrance to the saloon, but she saw also the skipper appear a few paces behind them, and glance at them sharply. He was usually a silent man, at home in the ice and the clammy fog, but not a great acquisition in the saloon.
”Something wrong down forward, Mr. Wyllard? They were making a great row a little while ago,” the skipper said.
”Nothing very serious,” Wyllard answered. ”One of the boys has cut his head.”
The skipper turned towards the doctor and Agatha guessed that he had overheard part of the conversation. ”Don't you think you had better go--at once?” suggested the skipper.
The doctor evidently did, for he disappeared; and Wyllard, who entered the saloon with the skipper, sat down at Agatha's side.
”How do you do it?” she asked.
”What?” returned Wyllard, beginning his dinner.
”We'll say persuade other folks to see things as you do.”
”You evidently mean the skipper, and I suppose you heard something of what was going on. In this case, I'm indebted to his prejudices. He's one of the old type--a seaman first of all--and what we call bluff, and you call bounce, has only one effect upon men of his kind. It gets their backs up.”