abandon the adventure and return to Baltimore on the
_Britannia_ when she cast off the _Elsinore_. And then I heard a slight
tinkling of china from the pantry as the steward proceeded to set the
table, and, also, it was so warm and comfortable, and George Moore was so
irritatingly fascinating.

CHAPTER VII

In every way dinner proved up beyond my expectations, and I registered a
note that the cook, whoever or whatever he might be, was a capable man at
his trade. Miss West served, and, though she and the steward were
strangers, they worked together splendidly. I should have thought, from
the smoothness of the service, that he was an old house servant who for
years had known her every way.

The pilot ate in the chart-house, so that at table were the four of us
that would always be at table together. Captain West and his daughter
faced each other, while I, on the captain's right, faced Mr. Pike. This
put Miss West across the corner on my right.

Mr. Pike, his dark sack coat (put on for the meal) bulging and wrinkling
over the lumps of muscles that padded his stooped shoulders, had nothing
at all to say. But he had eaten too many years at captains' tables not
to have proper table manners. At first I thought he was abashed by Miss
West's presence. Later, I decided it was due to the presence of the
captain. For Captain West had a way with him that I was beginning to
learn. Far removed as Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire were from the sailors,
individuals as they were of an entirely different and superior breed, yet
equally as different and far removed from his officers was Captain West.
He was a serene and absolute aristocrat. He neither talked "ship" nor
anything else to Mr. Pike.

On the other hand, Captain West's attitude toward me was that of a social
equal. But then, I was a passenger. Miss West treated me the same way,
but unbent more to Mr. Pike. And Mr. Pike, answering her with "Yes,
Miss," and "No, Miss," ate good-manneredly and with his shaggy-browed
gray eyes studied me across the table. I, too, studied him. Despite his
violent past, killer and driver that he was, I could not help liking the
man. He was honest, genuine. Almost more than for that, I liked him for
the spontaneous boyish laugh he gave on the occasions when I reached the
points of several funny stories. No man could laugh like that and be all
bad. I was glad that it was he, and not Mr. Mellaire, who was to sit
opposite through