"Young love," answered Carl, on a most sober note. "The most precious thing in the world."
"Where does young love come in, for God's sake?"
Carl tapped the telegram with his forefinger. "In every word of this message. She is happy, she is excited, she is going to get married, and she sends her love to you, her parents. She wants to share her love, she wants you to be as happy as I am sure Louis is making her, at this moment."
"But he's not meant to make her happy at one o'clock in the morning!" said Mrs. Beddington, obviously appalled by the idea. "It's disgusting! How do we know what he's doing to her? What will people say?"
"They will say," intoned Carl, with sudden dramatic piety, "that love makes its own rules. ... Of course she and Louis have been foolish," he continued, on a more man-of-the-world note, "but what does that prove?—simply that they are deeply in love and want to marry as soon as they can." He felt the Captain's frosty eye upon him, and he rallied himself for a decisive effort. "Of course it is a surprise, of course they have been naughty—in keeping it a secret— but when were lovers not secretive? It is part of their joy, part of the excitement. .. ." He addressed himself especially to Mrs. Beddington. "It is a great shock to you, I know—but there could be worse shocks, couldn't there?—and worse disappointments.At last—" he lent a very delicate emphasis to the words, "—your little girl has found the happiness she deserves. She is going to be married! There may be grandchildren! Surely you must be glad about that?"
"Well," said Mrs. Beddington, and paused to look at her husband, while Carl watched both their faces. He was aware, as if he were dictating it himself, of the train of thought which he had been able to start. Their little girl—married at last. . . . Their little girl—so huge in reality, so long unmarketable. . . . And grandchildren already over the horizon. . . . "All the same," said Mrs. Beddington, after a long silence, "itis disgraceful."
It was then that Mr. Beddington asked: "What sort of a young man is Scapelli? What's his background?"
"It's an old Boston family," said Carl readily. (The Beddingtons were from the far west of Arizona.) "His father—who married my favourite sister—incidentally in the same kind of runaway match— his father made a great deal of money in real estate, and lost his life in extraordinary circumstances in a typhoon in the West Indies." Steady now, thought Carl to himself, aware of a baleful glance from the Captain; keep it vague, keep it general. . . . "Louis, I believe, has shown great promise in the business world. I would say he had an exceptional future."
"But what does he do?" inquired Mr. Beddington.
"He has been looking for an opening, and taking his own time about it."
"He has money, then?"
Carl shook his head. "Not a great deal," he answered. "I happen to know there was some unfortunate litigation—as only too often happens, with these very old families. But of course," Carl went on, largely, "he has a few thousands, and naturally I will do the best I can for him myself, on this—" he caught Mrs. Beddington's eye, and smiled suddenly and disarmingly, "—you know, I must call it, this happy occasion. I have long wanted to see him settled. Bernice is a dear girl," he continued, stretching a point, "and Louis has undoubted qualities which will bring him to the top in his chosen sphere." He stood up suddenly, taking subtle control of all their problems, all their worries. "Why don't we," he said, with the most insidious charm he had ever displayed, "begin to be happy about this whole thing?"
When, much later, the Beddingtons had gone—reluctantly prepared to be brave about what had happened, ready, with misgivings, to be resigned to it—Captain Harmer surveyed Carl across the width of his desk. It was well past one o'clock, and he would be lucky to get three hours' sleep that night; but there was no limit to his dislike of the man opposite him, and this gave him the energy for what he had to do next. Obviously, they were nearing the end of the line, and he intended to dispose of this whole thing in unmistakable terms.
"Well done!" he said sarcastically, as soon as they were alone; and then, on a much harder note: "This is the second time we've met today, Mr. Wenstrom. As far as I am concerned, there will only be one more of these meetings."
Carl, who had been enjoying the quiet satisfaction of having disposed of the Beddingtons with rare skill, was brought up short by the remark. Of course, the Captain was of tougher calibre, as compared with the bemused parents, and he could not be expected to come out in favour of sentimental surrender quite so readily; but it did not seem to Carl that he had left any loose ends which the Captain could jump on. Hell, they were getting married, it was practically legal. ... He was about to express his surprise when the Captain continued:
"What I mean by that, is that I'm not putting up with any more of these incidents, from any member of your family. If we have any further examples of young love, as practised by Mr. Scapelli or Miss Loring, I shall be taking immediate action. And this is the only warning you will get."
"I'm not sure I understand you," said Carl, coldly. "I certainly used the term 'young love' in connexion with Louis and Bernice, and I see no reason to object to it. It's obvious to me that—"
The Captain held up his hand, in sudden brusque denial. "Mr. Wenstrom—cut it out! You are not dealing with the Beddingtons now, you are answering to me. . . . We both know enough about the respective characters of Scapelli and Miss Beddington—and their respective appearances, if I can make the point—to be quite certain that this is the culmination of a racket, on his part. He has been auctioning his favours for the past two months. I am absolutely sure that he has now picked out the most impressionable girl on board, made certain that she has money, and trapped her into marrying him. Whether you yourself planned this—" "I knew nothing about it."
"Well, you know now." The Captain stood up, and after a moment Carl felt obliged to follow suit. "Let me make myself quite clear. I know that Scapelli has got away with murder, and I can't do anything about it. But I can take care of the future." He stared at Carl with very direct, very level eyes; he seemed suddenly a much bigger man, undeniably powerful, ready for action against anyone or anything. "If I hear of one single more instance of anything that I consider irregular—and I shall be the sole judge of that—I will put the whole lot of you ashore at the first port we touch."
Carl met his glance with an equal firmness. He had been taken seriously aback, but he was not going to show it. After a moment he answered, with careless calm: "I doubt if you can do that."
The Captain raised his eyebrows; then he laughed, very shortly, just enough to demonstrate that Carl had blundered into an area of which he knew nothing. "I understand that you're a betting man, Mr. Wenstrom," he remarked ironically. "Would you care to have a bet on that? With me? Let me assure you that I can have you, and your family, and all your luggage, carried down the gangway and out on to the dock, within the next five minutes, and you would have no conceivable redress, either now or later. My company would back me up, one hundred per cent, in any court in any country in the world. . . . And now, good night!"
He sat down at his desk, and Carl, indubitably dismissed, turned to go. As he reached the door he heard the Captain's voice behind him, relaxed, almost mocking:
"And while I remember it, Mr. Wenstrom—they don't have typhoons in the West Indies. They have hurricanes."
7
Carl awoke suddenly at 5 a.m., when the familiar trembling deep within the Alcestis, the polite shudder which fifteen thousand horse-power was bound to give when moving into action, made itself felt throughout the ship. He awoke in irritation, which presently turned to rage; this was the damned Captain again, interfering with everything, showing off his strength. ... It was a rage which, in a greater or lesser degree, was never to leave him.