Luck of the Bodkins (23 page)

Then
Ambrose, with a muttered 'Grrrh!
', hurled Albert Peasemarch from him, and Albert, with a muttered 'Cool
’
, reeled across the passage and gave himself a nasty bump. Ambrose hurried off with long, agitated strides, and Albert was left rubbing that sensitive part of his person which came immediately at the conclusion of his short white jacket

Presently, as he stood there adjusting his faculties, Reggie and Mabel came out and, like Ambrose, disappeared down the corridor, and he gathered that the curtain had been run down and the entertainment was over.

With the gradual lessening of the pain, his equanimity returned. He realized that he had been privileged to listen in on a performance of outstanding human interest, and there came upon him an insistent desire to find a confidant to whom he could relate the history of these remarkable happenings.

Nobby Clark, the steward who shared his labours on this section of the C deck, was the obvious choice, but at the moment he was unfortunately not on cordial terms with Mr Clark. The latter had taken exception to him jogging his elbow when he was shaving that morning in the Glory Hole and further exception to his attempt to shift the onus on to an inscrutable Fate, and had expressed himself in a manner which had wounded Albert Peasemarch's sensitive nature very deeply and which could not readily be overlooked.

Casting about in his mind for a substitute, Albert remembered that he had not yet removed the breakfast-tray from Miss Lotus Blossom's state-room.

'Quite an argle-bargle in Shed 31 just now, miss,' he said genially, walking in a few moments later. 'Surprised me, I must confess. Heated remarks. Raised voices. And how I came to happen to be, as it were, present was like this. I was going about my duties, when the bell rang -

Lottie Blossom, her costume completed, was sitting before the mirror putting those last touches to her face which make all the difference. She wanted to look her best, for she was about to go on deck and meet Ambrose. She interrupted Albert Peasemarch.

This isn't one of your longer stories, is it?' she asked courteously, but with a certain restiveness.

'Oh, no, miss. And in any case I'm sure you will be highly interested, it having to do with Mr Ambrose Tennyson and you being betrothed to him.'

'Who told you that?'

‘
Bless your heart, miss,
’
said Albert Peasemarch paternally, 'it's all over the ship. As to who actually was my specific informant, there you rather have me. I fancy it was my coworker, a man of the name of Clark, and he had it from someone who had met someone who had happened to be passing while you and Mr Tennyson were in conversation on the boat deck.'

'Nosey devils, you stewards.
’

‘
We generally manage to apprize ourselves of what's going on,' said Albert, acknowledging the compliment with a slight bow. 'I always say it's like the serfs and scullions in a medeevial castle taking an interest in the doings of the haughty nobles, because, as I believe I have observed to you, or if it wasn't you it was someone else, a steward during a voyage gets to look upon himself as a feudal retainer. I think it was Clark who gave me the information, but I am unable to veridify the supposition by actual personal inquiry, because after the manner in which he addressed me in the Glory Hole this morning I am not speaking to Nobby Clark."

A pang of envy for this favoured child of Fortune shot through Miss Blossom.

'The lucky stiff!' she said. 'Well, get on with it. And keep it crisp, because I'm raring to go. What about Mr Tennyson?'

'He was the cause of the imbrolligo.
’

The what?'

'A technical term,
’
explained
Albert Peasemarch indulgently, ‘
meaning argle-bargle. Mr Tennyson was the cause of this dust-up in Mr Llewellyn's shed.
’

'Oh, Mr Llewellyn was mixed up in it, was he?'

'He certainly was, miss.'

'What happened? Did Mr Tennyson start trouble with Mr Llewellyn?'

'To put it that way would be giving a wrong idea of the facts, miss. It wasn't so much a case of Mr Tennyson starting trouble with Mr Llewellyn as Mr Llewellyn starting trouble with Mr Tennyson. It appears that Mr Llewellyn took umbrage because Mr Tennyson wasn't the right Mr Tennyson, and told him off proper. And then Mr Tennyson junior and Miss Spence, who were also present, joined in -
’

'How do you mean - the right Mr Tennyson?'

The great Mr Tennyson, miss. I don't know if you are familiar with the works of the great Mr Tennyson? He wrote "The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck".'

Lottie Blossom's eyes widened.

'You don't mean Ikey thought Ambrose was that guy?
’
'Yes, miss. Misled, it seems, by his brother-in-law George.
’
'Well, of all the saps! That must have handed Ambrose
a
laugh.'

'Yes, miss; I heard him laugh.' 'Where were you during all this?
’

"W
ell, I happened to be passing -;

'I get you. So Ambrose laughed, did he?'

‘
Yes, miss, very hearty, and Mr Llewellyn didn't like it Very upset, he sounded. He said it made Mr Tennyson laugh, did it? Ho, well, Mr Tennyson could laugh at this one, he said, and with that he said that Mr Tennyson wasn't going to come to Llewellyn City and enjoy himself on his money. "You're fired," he said.'

‘
What!'

‘
Yes, miss. Those were his very words. "You're fired," he said. A heated imbrolligo then ensued, with a lot of back-chat and people shouting "Ikey!" and then the door flew open, precipitating me...'

Albert Peasemarch ceased. He found that he was playing to empty benches. Something prismatic had shot past him, and he was alone in the state-room. Ruefully reflecting that there never was a woman yet who knew how to listen, he gathered up the breakfast-tray, ate the slice of cold bacon which lay on it, and departed.

Lottie Blossom came out on to the promenade deck, to find it in the state of mixed torpor and activity which always prevails ©n promenade decks on fine mornings. There was a long line of semi-conscious figures in chairs, swathed in rugs and looking like fish laid out on a slab, and before their glassy gaze the athletes paraded up and down, rejoicing in their virility, shouting to one another 'What a morning 1' and pointing out that twice more round would make a mile.

Here and there were groups which fell into neither division. A little too active for the fish brigade and a little too limp for the athletes, they leaned on the rail and stared at the sea or just stood about and looked at their watches, to ascertain how soon they might expect soup.

Ambrose was not to be seen, but presently Lottie's keen eye detected Reggie. He was brooding apart; between his lips one of the cigarettes with which he had filled his case before leaving Mr Llewellyn's state-room. Grim though the recent proceedings had been, they had had one bright spot in them. They had enabled Reggie to stock up with cigarettes.

'Listen,' said Lottie, wasting no words on formal greetings, "what's all this about Ambrose and Ikey?'

Reggie removed the cigarette from his lips, contriving to lend to that simple action a solemn sadness which set the seal on Lottie's apprehensions. She abandoned the faint hope which she had been trying to cherish that Albert Peasemarch in order to make a good story might have exaggerated the facts.

'A pretty sticky situation,' said Reggie gravely. 'Did he tell you?'

'No, I had it from the Boy Orator - that steward guy. He seems to have been in a ringside seat. Is it true what he says about Ikey firing Ambrose?'

'Quite.
’

'But he can't go back on a contract.
’
There isn't any contract' ‘
What!'

'No. Apparently it had to be signed at the New York office.'

'Well, there must have been a letter or something?
’
‘
I gathered not'

‘
You mean Ambrose hadn'
t a line in writing?' ‘
Not a syllable.'

Amazement held Lottie Blossom dumb for an instant. Then she raged desperately.

'What chumps men are! Why couldn't the poor fish have consulted me? I could have told him. Fancy selling up the farm and starting off for Hollywood on the strength of Ikey Llewellyn's word! Ikey's word! What a laugh that is. Why, if Ikey had an only child and he promised her a doll on her birthday, the first thing she would do, if she was a sensible kid, would be to go to her lawyer and have a contract drawn up and signed, with penalty clauses. Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell!' said Miss Blossom, for she was much stirred. 'Do you know what this means, Reggie?'

‘
Means?
’

To me. Ambrose and I can't get married now.'

'Oh, come,' said Reggie, for his meditations on the deck had shown him that the situation, though sticky, was not so sticky as he had at first supposed. 'He may be broke, having given up his job at the Admiralty and all that, but you've enough for two, what?'

'I've enough for twenty. But what good is that? Ambrose won't live on my money. He wouldn't marry me on a bet now.' 'But, dash it, it's no different than marrying an heiress.
’
‘
He wouldn't marry an heiress.'

'What!' cried Reggie, who would have married
a
dozen, had the law permitted it. 'Why not?'

'Because he's a darned ivory-domed, pig-headed son of an army mule,' cried Miss Blossom, the hot blood of the Ho-boken Murphys boiling in her veins. 'Because he isn't human. Because he's like some actor in a play, doing the noble thing with one eye counting the house and the other on the gallery. No, he isn't,' she went on, with one of those swift transitions which made her character so interesting and which on the Superba-Llewellyn lot had so often sent overwrought directors groping blindly for the canteen to pull themselves together with frosted malted milk. 'He isn't anything of the kind.
I
admire his high principles. I think they're swell. It's a pity there aren't more men with his wonderful sense of honour and self-respect. I'm not going to have you saying a word against Ambrose. He's the finest man in the world, so if you want to sneer and jeer at him for refusing to live on my money, shoot ahead. Only remember that a cauliflower ear goes with it.'

'Quite,' said Reggie, somewhat dazed. 'Oh, definitely.'

A pause followed, during which a girl with a sniff and no chin came up and asked Miss Blossom to write her name and some little sentiment in her autograph album. With the air of
a
female member of the Committee of Public Safety signing
a
death warrant during the Reign of Terror, she did so. The interruption served to break the thread of her thoughts. Alone with Reggie once more, she looked at him in
a
bewildered way, like an awakened somnambulist

'Where were we?'

Reggie coughed.

'We were talking about Ambrose. And I was saying that
I
thought it simply magnificent, this stand he was taking about refusing to marry you and live on your money.
’

'Were you?'

'I was.' Reggie spoke with
a
good deal of emphasis. He wanted no misapprehensions on this point. 'It's terrific. Great. Splendid. One feels a thrill of pride.'

'Yes,' said Lottie doubtfully. 'He's right, I suppose. Only where do I get off?'

There's that, of course.'

'It seems kind of tough on me.
’

‘
It does.'

'We'd have been so happy.' 'Yes. Still, there it is.'

'If you ask me,' said Lottie, suddenly coming out of a brooding silence, 'I think the man's crazy. He ought to have his head examined. Why would he be living on my money? He could be writing his books.'

Reggie, though still nervous about his personal safety, felt compelled to put her straight on the matter of Ambrose's books.

'My dear old shipmate,' he said, 'Ambrose - splendid fellow though he is - high-principled, crammed to the gills with honour and self-respect - isn't a frightfully hot writer. I don't suppose he makes enough out of
a
novel to keep a midget in doughnuts for a week. Not a really healthy midget.'