The Pursuit of the House-Boat by John Kendrick Bangs (great novels txt) 📗

“Which is pretty hard work with a sea like this on,” remarked Ophelia, faintly, for she was getting a trifle sallow, as indeed she might, for the House-boat was beginning to roll tremendously with no alleviation save an occasional pitch, which was an alleviation only in the sense that it gave variety to their discomfort.  “I don’t believe a chief-justice could look at things calmly and in a judicial manner if he felt as I do.”

“Poor dear!” said the matronly Mrs. Noah, sympathetically.  “I know exactly how you feel.  I have been there myself.  The fourth day out I and my whole family were in the same condition, except that Noah, my husband, was so very far gone that I could not afford to yield.  I nursed him for six days before he got his sea-legs on, and then succumbed myself.”

“But,” gasped Ophelia, “that doesn’t help me—

“It did my husband,” said Mrs. Noah.

“When he heard that the boys were seasick too, he actually laughed and began to get better right away.  There is really only one cure for the mal de mer, and that is the fun of knowing that somebody else is suffering too.  If some of you ladies would kindly yield to the seductions of the sea, I think we could get this poor girl on her feet in an instant.”

Unfortunately for poor Ophelia, there was no immediate response to this appeal, and the unhappy young woman was forced to suffer in solitude.

“We have no time for untimely diversions of this sort,” snapped Xanthippe, with a scornful glance at the suffering Ophelia, who, having retired to a comfortable lounge at an end of the room, was evidently improving.  “I have no sympathy with this habit some of my sex seem to have acquired of succumbing to an immediate sensation of this nature.”

“I hope to be pardoned for interrupting,” said Mrs. Noah, with a great deal of firmness, “but I wish Mrs. Socrates to understand that it is rather early in the voyage for her to lay down any such broad principle as that, and for her own sake to-morrow, I think it would be well if she withdrew the sentiment.  There are certain things about a sea-voyage that are more or less beyond the control of man or woman, and any one who chides that poor suffering child on yonder sofa ought to be more confident than Mrs. Socrates can possibly be that within an hour she will not be as badly off.  People who live in glass houses should not throw dice.”

“I shall never yield to anything so undignified as seasickness, let me tell you that,” retorted Xanthippe.  “Furthermore, the proverb is not as the lady has quoted it.  ‘People who live in glass houses should not throw stones’ is the proper version.”

“I was not quoting,” returned Mrs. Noah, calmly.  “When I said that people who live in glass houses should not throw dice, I meant precisely what I said.  People who live in glass houses should not take chances.  In assuming with such vainglorious positiveness that she will not be seasick, the lady who has just spoken is giving tremendous odds, as the boys used to say on the Ark when we gathered about the table at night and began to make small wagers on the day’s run.”

“I think we had better suspend this discussion,” suggested Cleopatra.  “It is of no immediate interest to any one but Ophelia, and I fancy she does not care to dwell upon it at any great length.  It is more important that we should decide upon our future course of action.  In the first place, the question is who these people up on deck are.  If they are the members of the club, we are all right.  They will give us our scare, and land us safely again at the pier.  In that event it is our womanly duty to manifest no concern, and to seem to be aware of nothing unusual in the proceeding.  It would never do to let them think that their joke has been a good one.  If, on the other hand, as I fear, we are the victims of some horde of ruffians, who have pounced upon us unawares, and are going into the business of abduction on a wholesale basis, we must meet treachery with treachery, strategy with strategy.  I, for one, am perfectly willing to make every man on board walk the plank; having confidence in the seawomanship of Mrs. Noah and her ability to steer us into port.”

“I am quite in accord with these views,” put in Madame Récamier, “and I move you, Mrs. President, that we organize a series of sub-committees—one on treachery, with Lucretia Borgia and Delilah as members; one on strategy, consisting of Portia and Queen Elizabeth; one on navigation, headed by Mrs. Noah; with a final sub-committee on reconnoitre, with Cassandra to look forward, and Mrs. Lot to look aft—all of these subordinated to a central committee of safety headed by Cleopatra and Calpurnia.  The rest of us can then commit ourselves and our interests unreservedly to these ladies, and proceed to enjoy ourselves without thought of the morrow.”

“I second the motion,” said Ophelia, “with the amendment that Madame Récamier be appointed chair-lady of another sub-committee, on entertainment.”

The amendment was accepted, and the motion put.  It was carried with an enthusiastic aye, and the organization was complete.

The various committees retired to the several corners of the room to discuss their individual lines of action, when a shadow was observed to obscure the moonlight which had been streaming in through the window.  The faces of Calpurnia and Cleopatra blanched for an instant, as, immediately following upon this apparition, a large bundle was hurled through the open port into the middle of the room, and the shadow vanished.

“Is it a bomb?” cried several of the ladies at once.

“Nonsense!” said Madame Récamier, jumping lightly forward.  “A man doesn’t mind blowing a woman up, but he’ll never blow himself up.  We’re safe enough in that respect.  The thing looks to me like a bundle of illustrated papers.”

“That’s what it is,” said Cleopatra who had been investigating.  “It’s rather a discourteous bit of courtesy, tossing them in through the window that way, I think, but I presume they mean well.  Dear me,” she added, as, having untied the bundle, she held one of the open papers up before her, “how interesting!  All the latest Paris fashions.  Humph!  Look at those sleeves, Elizabeth.  What an impregnable fortress you would have been with those sleeves added to your ruffs!”

“I should think they’d be very becoming,” put in Cassandra, standing on her tip-toes and looking over Cleopatra’s shoulder.  “That Watteau isn’t bad, either, is it, now?”

“No,” remarked Calpurnia.  “I wonder how a Watteau back like that would go on my blue alpaca?”

“Very nicely,” said Elizabeth.  “How many gores has it?”

“Five,” observed Calpurnia.  “One more than Cæsar’s toga.  We had to have our costumes distinct in some way.”

“A remarkable hat, that,” nodded Mrs. Lot, her eye catching sight of a Virot creation at the top of the page.

“Reminds me of Eve’s description of an autumn scene in the garden,” smiled Mrs. Noah.  “Gorgeous in its foliage, beautiful thing; though I shouldn’t have dared wear one in the Ark, with all those hungry animals browsing about the upper and lower decks.”

“I wonder,” remarked Cleopatra, as she cocked her head to one side to take in the full effect of an attractive summer gown—“I wonder how that waist would make up in blue crépon, with a yoke of lace and a stylishly contrasting stock of satin ribbon?”

“It would depend upon how you finished the sleeves,” remarked Madame Récamier.  “If you had a few puffs of rich brocaded satin set in with deeply folded pleats it wouldn’t be bad.”

“I think it would be very effective,” observed Mrs. Noah, “but a trifle too light for general wear.  I should want some kind of a wrap with it.”

“It does need that,” assented Elizabeth.  “A wrap made of passementerie and jet, with a mousseline de soie ruche about the neck held by a chou, would make it fascinating.”

“The committee on treachery is ready to report,” said Delilah, rising from her corner, where she and Lucretia Borgia had been having so animated a discussion that they had failed to observe the others crowding about Cleopatra and the papers.

“A little sombre,” said Cleopatra.  “The corsage is effective, but I don’t like those basque terminations.  I’ve never approved of those full godets—”

“The committee on treachery,” remarked Delilah again, raising her voice, “has a suggestion to make.”

“I can’t get over those sleeves, though,” laughed Helen of Troy.  “What is the use of them?”

“They might be used to get Greeks into Troy,” suggested Madame Récamier.

“The committee on treachery,” roared Delilah, thoroughly angered by the absorption of the chairman and others, “has a suggestion to make.  This is the third and last call.”

“Oh, I beg pardon,” cried Cleopatra, rapping for order.  “I had forgotten all about our committees.  Excuse me, Delilah.  I—ah—was absorbed in other matters.  Will you kindly lay your pattern—I should say your plan—before us?”

“It is briefly this,” said Delilah.  “It has been suggested that we invite the crew of this vessel to a chafing-dish party, under the supervision of Lucretia Borgia, and that she—”

The balance of the plan was not outlined, for at this point the speaker was interrupted by a loud knocking at the door, its instant opening, and the appearance in the doorway of that ill-visaged ruffian Captain Kidd.

“Ladies,” he began, “I have come here to explain to you the situation in which you find yourselves.  Have I your permission to speak?”

The ladies started back, but the chairman was equal to the occasion.

“Go on,” said Cleopatra, with queenly dignity, turning to the interloper; and the pirate proceeded to take the second step in the nefarious plan upon which he and his brother ruffians had agreed, of which the tossing in through the window of the bundle of fashion papers was the first.

It was about twenty-four hours after the events narrated in the preceding chapters that Mr. Sherlock Holmes assumed command of the Gehenna, which was nothing more nor less than the shadow of the ill-starred ocean steamship City of Chicago, which tried some years ago to reach Liverpool by taking the overland route through Ireland, fortunately without detriment to her passengers and crew, who had the pleasure of the experience of shipwreck without any of the discomforts of drowning.  As will be remembered, the obstructionist nature of the Irish soil prevented the City of Chicago from proceeding farther inland than was necessary to keep her well balanced amidships upon a convenient and not too stony bed; and that after a brief sojourn on the rocks she was finally disposed of to the Styx Navigation Company, under which title Charon had had himself incorporated, is a matter of nautical history.  The change of name to the Gehenna was the act of Charon himself, and was prompted, no doubt, by a desire to soften the jealous prejudices of the residents of the Stygian capital against the flourishing and ever-growing metropolis of Illinois.

The Associated Shades had had some trouble in getting this craft.  Charon, through his constant association with life on both sides of the dark river, had gained a knowledge, more or less intimate, of modern business methods, and while as janitor of the club he was subject to the will of the House-boat Committee, and sympathized deeply with the members of the association in their trouble, as president of the Styx Navigation Company he was bound up in certain newly attained commercial ideas which were embarrassing to those members of the association to whose hands the chartering of a vessel had been committed.

“See here, Charon,” Sir Walter Raleigh had said, after Charon had expressed himself as deeply sympathetic, but unable to shave the terms upon which the vessel could be had, “you are an infernal old hypocrite.  You go about wringing your hands over our misfortunes until they’ve got as dry and flabby as a pair of kid gloves, and yet when we ask you for a ship of suitable size and speed to go out after those pirates, you become a sort of twin brother to Shylock, without his excuse.  His instincts are accidents of birth.  Yours are cultivated, and you know it.”

“You are very much mistaken, Sir Walter,” Charon had answered to this.  “You don’t understand my position.  It is a very hard one.  As janitor of your club I am really prostrated over the events of the past twenty-four hours.  My occupation is gone, and my despair over your loss is correspondingly greater, for I have time on my hands to brood over it.  I was hysterical as a woman yesterday afternoon—so hysterical that I came near upsetting one of the Furies who engaged me to row her down to Madame Medusa’s villa last evening; and right at the sluice of the vitriol reservoir at that.”