Part 53 (1/2)
”Oh yes, two or three. But he says he should like a little more practice, as it's a very interesting subject.”
”You really are the most ridiculous little kitten there ever was!
Talking like the President of the Royal College of Surgeons! Not a smile.”
”We-ell, there's nothing in _that_.” Slightly offended dignity on Miss Sally's part. ”I say, the 'bus is very late; it's striking seven.”
But just as St. Sennan ceases, and leaves the air clear for listening, Rosalind exclaims, ”Isn't that it?” And this time it is it, and by ten minutes past seven Fenwick is in the arms of his family, who congratulate him on a beautiful new suit of navy-blue serge, in which he looks very handsome.
Often now when she looks back to those days can Rosalind see before her the grave young face in the sundown, and hear the tale of Dr.
Conrad's materialism. And then she sees once more over the smooth purple sea of the day before the little boat sculled by Vereker, with Sally in the stern steering. And the white sails of the Grace Darling of St. Sennans, that had taken a large party out at sixpence each person three hours ago, and couldn't get back by herself for want of wind, and had to be towed by a row-boat, whose oars sounded rhythmically across the mile of intervening water. She was doing nothing to help, was Grace, but her sails flopped a little now and again, just enough to show how glad she would have been to do so with a little encouragement. Rosalind can see it all again quite plain, and the little white creamy cloud that had taken pity on the doctor sculling in the boat, and made a cool island of shadow, coloured imperial purple on the sea, for him and Sally to float in, and talk of how some unknown person, fool enough to get drowned, should one day be recalled from the gate of Death.
CHAPTER x.x.xII
HOW SALLY DIVED OFF THE BOAT, AND SHOCKED THE BEACH. OF THE SENSITIVE DELICACY OF THE OCTOPUS. AND OF DR. EVERETT GAYLER'S OPINIONS
Fenwick had been granted, or had appropriated, another week's holiday, and the wine-trade was to lose some of his valuable services during that time. Not all, because in these days you can do so much by telegraph. Consequently the chimney-piece with the rabbits made of sh.e.l.ls on each side, and the model of the Dreadnought--with real planks and a companion-ladder that went too far down, and almost serviceable bra.s.s carronades ready for action--and a sampler by Mercy Lobjoit (1763), showing David much too small for the st.i.tches he was composed of, and even Goliath not big enough to have two lips--this chimney-piece soon become a magazine of yellow telegrams, which blew away when the window and door were open at the same time.
It was on the second of Fenwick's days on this visit that an unusual storm of telegrams, as he came in to breakfast after an early dip in the sea, confirmed the statement in the paper of the evening before that W. and S.W. breezes might be expected later. ”Wind freshening,”
was the phrase in which the forecast threw doubts on the permanency of its recent references to a smooth Channel-pa.s.sage. However, faith had already been undermined by current testimony to light easterly winds backing north, on the coast of Ireland. Sally was denouncing meteorology as imposture when the returning bather produced the effect recorded. It interrupted a question on his lips as he entered, and postponed it until the telegram papers had all been reinstated and the window closed, so that Mrs. Lobjoit might come in with the hot rolls and eggs and not have anything blown away. Then peace reigned and the question got asked.
”What are we going to do to-day?” said Sally, repeating it. ”I know what I'm going to do first. I'm going to swim round the buoy.”
”My dear, they'll never put the machines down to-day.” This was her mother.
”They'll do it fast enough, if I tell 'em to. It's half the fun, having it a little rough.”
”Well, kitten, I suppose you'll go your own way; only I shall be very glad when you're back in your machine. Coffee, Gerry?”
”Yes, coffee--in the big cup with the chip, and lots of milk. You're a dangerous young monkey, Sarah; and I shall get old Benjamin's boat, and hang about. And then you'll be happy, Rosey, eh?”
”No, I shan't! We shall have you getting capsized, too. (I put in three lumps of sugar.... No, _not_ little ones--_big_ ones!) What a thing it is to be connected with aquatic characters!”
”Never you mind the mother, Jeremiah. You get the boat. I should like it to dive off.”
”All right, I'll get Vereker, and we'll row out. The doctor's not bad as an oarsman. Bradshaw doesn't make much of it. (Yes, thanks; another egg. The brown one preferred; don't know why!) Yes, I'll get Dr.
Conrad, and you shall come and dive off.”
All which was duly done, and Sally got into great disgrace by scrambling up into the boat with the help of a looped rope hung over the side, and was thereafter known to more than one decorous family group frequenting the beach as that bold Miss Nightingale. But what did Sally care what those stuffy people thought about her, with such a set-off against their bad opinion as the glorious plunge down into the depths, and the rus.h.i.+ng sea-murmur in her ears, the only sound in the strange green silence; and then the sudden magic of the change back to the dazzling sun on the moving foam, and some human voice that was speaking when she dived only just ending off? Surely, after so long a plunge down, down, that voice should have pa.s.sed on to some new topic.
For that black and s.h.i.+ning merp.u.s.s.y, during one deep dive into the under-world of trackless waters, had had time to recollect an appointment with a friend, and had settled in her mind that, as soon as she was once more in upper air, she would mention it to the crew of the boat she had dived from. She was long enough under for that.
Then up she came into the rise and fall and ripple overhead like a sudden Loreley, and as soon as she could see where the boat had got to, and was free of a long stem of floating weed she had caught up in the foam, she found her voice. And in it, as it rang out in the morning air, was a world of youth and life and hope from which care was an outcast, flung to the winds and the waves.
”I say, Jeremiah, we've got to meet a friend of yours on the pier this afternoon.”
”Time for you to come out of that water, Sarah.” This name had become nearly invariable on Fenwick's part. ”Who's your friend?”