The Girl on the Boat - Penn State University
The Girl on the Boat - Penn State University
The Girl on the Boat - Penn State University
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_he_ was a man who always looked <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> bright side.<br />
Good-night, Miss Bennett. And good-bye—for ever.”<br />
He turned <strong>on</strong> his heel and strode across <strong>the</strong> deck.<br />
From a white heaven <strong>the</strong> mo<strong>on</strong> still sh<strong>on</strong>e benignantly<br />
down, mocking him. He had spoken bravely; <strong>the</strong> most<br />
captious critic could not but have admitted that he had<br />
made a good exit. But already his heart was aching.<br />
As he drew near to his state-room, he was amazed<br />
and disgusted to hear a high tenor voice raised in s<strong>on</strong>g<br />
proceeding from behind <strong>the</strong> closed door.<br />
“I fee-er naw faw in shee-ining arr-mor,<br />
Though his lance be sharrrp and—er keen;<br />
But I fee-er, I fee-er <strong>the</strong> glah-mour<br />
<str<strong>on</strong>g>The</str<strong>on</strong>g>rough thy der-rooping lashes seen:<br />
I fee-er, I fee-er <strong>the</strong> glah-mour ….”<br />
Sam flung open <strong>the</strong> door wrathfully. That Eustace<br />
Hignett should still be alive was bad—he had pictured<br />
him hurling himself overboard and bobbing about, a<br />
pleasing sight in <strong>the</strong> wake of <strong>the</strong> vessel; that he should<br />
<str<strong>on</strong>g>The</str<strong>on</strong>g> <str<strong>on</strong>g>Girl</str<strong>on</strong>g> <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> <strong>Boat</strong><br />
78<br />
be singing was an outrage. Remorse, Sam felt, should<br />
have stricken Eustace Hignett dumb. Instead of which,<br />
here he was comporting himself like a blasted linnet.<br />
It was all wr<strong>on</strong>g. <str<strong>on</strong>g>The</str<strong>on</strong>g> man could have no c<strong>on</strong>science<br />
whatever.<br />
“Well,” he said sternly, “so <strong>the</strong>re you are!”<br />
Eustace Hignett looked up brightly, even beamingly.<br />
In <strong>the</strong> brief interval which had elapsed since Sam had<br />
seen him last, an extraordinary transformati<strong>on</strong> had<br />
taken place in this young man. His wan look had disappeared.<br />
His eyes were bright. His face wore that<br />
beastly self-satisfied smirk which you see in pictures<br />
advertising certain makes of fine-mesh underwear. If<br />
Eustace Hignett had been a full-page drawing in a<br />
magazine with “My dear fellow, I always wear Sigsbee’s<br />
Super-fine Fea<strong>the</strong>rweight!” printed underneath him, he<br />
could not have looked more pleased with himself.<br />
“Hullo!” he said. “I was w<strong>on</strong>dering where you had got to.”<br />
“Never mind,” said Sam coldly, “where I had got to!<br />
Where did you get to and why? You poor, miserable<br />
worm,” he went <strong>on</strong> in a burst of generous indignati<strong>on</strong>,