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. At last I can stand it
no longer, so ask the Captain point-blank what is the matter.
"Nothing," says he, bounding out of his chair and flying out of his
doorway; but on his return he tells me he has got a bet on of two
bottles of champagne with Woermann's Agent for Njole, as to who
shall reach Lembarene first, and the German agent has started off
some time before the Eclaireur in his little steam launch.
During the afternoon we run smoothly along; the free pulsations of
the engines telling what a very different thing coming down the
Ogowe is to going up against its terrific current. Every now and
again we stop to pick up cargo, or discharge over-carried cargo, and
the Captain's mind becomes lulled by getting no news of the
Woermann's launch having passed down. He communicates this to the
Engineer; it is impossible she could have passed the Eclaireur since
they started, therefore she must be some where behind at a
subfactory, "N'est-ce pas?" "Oui, oui, certainement," says the
Engineer. The Engineer is, by these considerations, also lulled,
and feels he may do something else but scan the river a la sister
Ann. What that something is puzzles me; it evidently requires
secrecy, and he shrinks from detection. First he looks down one
side of the deck, no one there; then he looks down the other, no one
there; good so far. I then see he has put his head through one of
the saloon portholes; no one there; he hesitates a few seconds until
I begin to wonder whether his head will suddenly appear through my
port; but he regards this as an unnecessary precaution, and I hear
him enter his cabin which abuts on mine and there is silence for
some minutes. Writing home to his mother, think I, as I go on
putting a new braid round the bottom of a worn skirt.
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