We all felt we could believe that assertion. If he had boasted that
he could tell a duller, more uninteresting story, we should have
doubted him; but the possibility of his being able to relate
something funnier, we could readily grasp.
But it was not a bit funnier, after all. It was only longer and
more involved. It was the history of a man who grew his own celery;
and then, later on, it turned out that his wife was the niece, by
the mother's side, of a man who had made an ottoman out of an old
packing-case.
The friend glanced round the carriage apologetically about the
middle of this story, with an expression that said:
"I'm awfully sorry, gentlemen; but it really is not my fault. You
see the position I'm in. Don't blame me. Don't make it worse for
me to bear than it is."
And we each replied with pitying, sympathetic looks that implied:
"That's all right, my dear sir; don't you fret about that. We see
how it is. We only wish we could do something to help you."
The poor fellow seemed happier and more resigned after that.
B. and I hurried on board at Dover, and were just in time to secure
the last two berths in the boat; and we were glad that we had
managed to do this because our idea was that we should, after a good
supper, turn in and go comfortably to sleep.
B. said:
"What I like to do, during a sea passage, is to go to sleep, and
then wake up and find that I am there."
We made a very creditable supper. I explained to B. the ballast
principle held by my seafaring friend, and he agreed with me that
the idea seemed reasonable; and, as there was a fixed price for
supper, and you had as much as you liked, we determined to give the
plan a fair trial.
B. left me after supper somewhat abruptly, as it appeared to me, and
I took a stroll on deck by myself. I did not feel very comfortable.
I am what I call a moderate sailor. I do not go to excess in either
direction. On ordinary occasions, I can swagger about and smoke my
pipe, and lie about my Channel experiences with the best of them.
But when there is what the captain calls "a bit of a sea on," I feel
sad, and try to get away from the smell of the engines and the
proximity of people who smoke green cigars.
There was a man smoking a peculiarly mellow and unctuous cigar on
deck when I got there. I don't believe he smoked it because he
enjoyed it. He did not look as if he enjoyed it. I believe he
smoked it merely to show how well he was feeling, and to irritate
people who were not feeling very well.
