Both Of Them Make Rapid Dashes To The Rail, And
Nervously Scan The River For A Minute And Then Return To Some
Occupation, Only To Dash From It To The Rail Again.
During
breakfast their conduct is nerve-shaking.
Hastily taking a few
mouthfuls, the Captain drops his knife and fork and simply hurls his
seamanlike form through the nearest door out on to the deck. In
another minute he is back again, and with just a shake of his head
to the Engineer, continues his meal. The Engineer shortly
afterwards flies from his seat, and being far thinner than the
Captain, goes through his nearest door with even greater rapidity;
returns, and shakes his head at the Captain, and continues his meal.
Excitement of this kind is infectious, and I also wonder whether I
ought not to show a sympathetic friendliness by flying from my seat
and hurling myself on to the deck through my nearest door, too. But
although there are plenty of doors, as four enter the saloon from
the deck, I do not see my way to doing this performance aimlessly,
and what in this world they are both after I cannot think. So I
confine myself to woman's true sphere, and assist in a humble way by
catching the wine and Vichy water bottles, glasses, and plates of
food, which at every performance are jeopardised by the members of
the nobler sex starting off with a considerable quantity of the
ample table cloth wrapped round their legs.
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