“How could there be?”
“Then why not let me grub-stake you, which I believe is the correct Western term.”
“As how, for instance?”
“I’ll secure for you a comfortable cabin, and you will pay the damage when you strike oil out West, so, you see, there’s no humiliating condescension about the offer.”
“I’m sure there isn’t, and it’s very good of you, Stranleigh, but I can’t dress the part.”
“That’s easily arranged. Ponderby always over-dresses me. His idea of this world is that there is London, and the rest of the planet is a wilderness. You could no more persuade him that a decent suit might be made in New York than that I am the worst-dressed man in London. You and I are about the same height and build. Ponderby will have in my mountainous luggage anywhere from twenty-five to forty suits never yet worn by me. I don’t know on what principle he goes, but as the last time we went to America he took twenty-five new suits, and we crossed in a twenty-five thousand ton boat, he is likely to have at least forty-five suits for this forty-five thousand ton steamship, and he will feel as much pleasure in rigging you out as he took in the crowning of the new King.”
“Very good of you, Stranleigh, but I cannot accept.”
“I am pleading for Ponderby’s sake. Besides, there’s one practical point you have overlooked. If you attempt to land from the steerage – travelling under an assumed name, I suppose – ”
“Like yourself, Stranleigh.”
“No, I own the name ‘Trevelyan.’ But, as I was saying, if you attempt to land rather shabbily dressed and almost penniless, you will find yourself turned back as an undesirable alien, whereas you can go ashore from the first cabin unquestioned, save for those amazing queries the U.S.A. Government puts to one, the answers to which Ponderby will be charmed to write out for you.”
Hazel without reply walked back to the rail, leaned his arms on it, and fell into deep thought. Stranleigh followed him.
“Give me your ticket,” he said.
Hazel took it from his pocket and handed it over.
“Have you any luggage?”
“Only a portmanteau, which I placed in my bunk. It contains a certain amount of necessary linen.”
“Wait here until I find out what there is to be had in the first cabin.”
Stranleigh went down to the purser, and that overworked official threw him a friendly glance, which nevertheless indicated that his time was valuable.
“My name is Trevelyan,” said the young man.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Trevelyan. You have our premier suite. How do you like your accommodation?”
“I haven’t seen it yet. I have just discovered a friend, a rather eccentric man, who had made up his mind to cross the Atlantic in the steerage. One of those silly bets, you know, which silly young men make in our silly London clubs, and I have persuaded him out of it.”
“Our steerage is supposed to be rather comfortable, Mr. Trevelyan.”
“So he says, but I want his company on deck, and not on the steerage deck at that. Have you got anything vacant along my avenue?”
The purser consulted his written list.
“Nobody with him?”
“He’s quite alone.”
“All the larger cabins are taken, but I can give him No. 4390.”
“I suppose, like your steerage, it is comfortable?” said Stranleigh, with a smile.
“It is, yet it’s not a private hotel like your quarters.”
“Oh, he’ll not grumble. Will you send a steward to carry his portmanteau from the number indicated on this steerage ticket to his new room? Meanwhile, I’ll have transferred to him his luggage that I brought from London.”
The purser rapidly wrote out a new ticket, and took the difference in five-pound notes.
“Are you going to your quarters now?” the purser asked.
“Yes, I must give some instructions to my man.”
“Then it will give me great pleasure to show you the way there,” said the purser, rising and locking the door; and in spite of Stranleigh’s protest against his taking the trouble, he led him to a series of rooms that would have satisfied a much more exacting person than his young lordship. When the purser had returned to his duties, Stranleigh said to Ponderby —
“The Hon. John Hazel is aboard, and his cabin is No. 4390. He had to leave London in a great hurry and without the necessary luggage.”
Ponderby’s eyes lit up with an expression which said – “I knew that would happen sooner or later.” But he uttered no word, and cast down his eyes when he saw his master had noticed the glance. Stranleigh spoke coldly and clearly.
“How many new suits have you provided for me?”
“Thirty-seven, my lord.”
“Very well. Clear out one or two boxes, and pack a dress-suit and two or three ordinary suits; in fact, costume the Hon. John Hazel just as you would costume me. Call a steward, and order the box to be taken to his room. Lay out for him an everyday garb, and get all this done as quickly as possible.”
His lordship proceeded leisurely to the upper deck once more, and found Hazel just as he had left him, except that he was now gazing at the fleeting shore, green and village-studded, of the Isle of Wight.
“Here you are,” said Stranleigh breezily, handing the Hon. John the cabin ticket.
There was a weak strain in Hazel’s character, otherwise he would never had come to the position in which he found himself, and he now exhibited the stubbornness which has in it the infallible signs of giving way.
“I really cannot accept it,” he said, his lower lip trembling perceptibly.
“Tut, tut! It’s all settled and done with. Your room is No. 4390. You will find your bag there, and also a box from my habitation. Come along – I’ll be your valet. Luncheon will be on shortly, and I want your company.”
Stranleigh turned away, and Hazel followed him.
Cabin 4390 could not be compared with the luxurious suite that Stranleigh was to occupy, yet, despite the purser’s hesitation to overpraise it, the cabin was of a size and promise of comfort that would have been found in few liners a decade ago. Ponderby was on hand, and saved his master the fag of valeting, and when finally the Hon. John emerged, he was quite his old jaunty self again – a well-dressed man who would not have done discredit even to the Camperdown Club.
“I have secured a place for you,” said Stranleigh, “next to myself at the doctor’s table. I flatter myself on having made this transfer with more tact than I usually display, for I am somewhat stupid in the main, trusting others to carry out my ideas rather than endeavouring to shine as a diplomatist myself. The purser – the only official aware of the change – thinks you made a bet to go over steerage, and will probably forget all about the matter. The question is, under what name shall I introduce you to the doctor?”
“What would you advise?” asked Hazel. “The name on my steerage ticket is William Jones.”
“Oh, that’s no good as a nom de guerre– too palpably a name chosen by an unimaginative man. I should sail under your own colours if I were you.”
“Good! Then John Hazel I am, and so will remain. As a guarantee of good faith, I promise you not to touch a card all the way across.”
“A good resolution; see that you keep it.” And thus they enjoyed an appetising lunch together, and were regaled with one of the doctor’s best salads.
They got away from Cherbourg before the dinner hour, and after that meal Stranleigh and Hazel walked together on the main deck, until the