11.07.2015 Views

View PDF - Brown University Library

View PDF - Brown University Library

View PDF - Brown University Library

SHOW MORE
SHOW LESS
  • No tags were found...

You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles

YUMPU automatically turns print PDFs into web optimized ePapers that Google loves.

88 A Theatrical Boarding-House in Sydneymany times around the ship before breakfast,ran races with him, and at Auckland,where we stopped for several hours, hetook the little boy ashore and bought hima small pair of boxing-gloves.Just before we reached New Zealandsome one asked me to tell fortunes. Ihave a pack of cards that I invented andpainted myself, and I carry them withme wherever I go—they never fail toamuse somebody. I told all sorts andkinds of fortunes, and finally Mr. Watsoncame for his turn. Among a number ofthings I remember saying, "You havewomen's tears on your conscience," andadded, "You are a gay Lothario," expectinghim to smile. Instead of that heturned very pale." Are you seasick ? " I asked. He shookhis head and went away.That night Mrs. Watson came to mycabin and told a story that filled me withhorror and dismay. She began, I remember,most dramatically by asking:"Are you the kind of a woman to takea woman's part?"I faltered doubtfully that perhaps I was.Then, sitting on the cabin floor at myfeet, the tears streaming down her face,she confessed that she was not married toMr. Watson. She had left her husbandto elope with him, and he had deserteda wife and five children for her. Sheshowed me a crumpled telegram she hadreceived from her husband in San Franciscotelling her never to return. Sheexcused and blamed herself in a breath,and wound up by declaring that she hadgrown to hate the man she was with.To me it all sounded like a page out ofOuida, and my eyes must have beenas round as saucers. She thought I hadknown the truth about them when I toldMr. Watson's fortune, and said he had'' women's tears on his conscience.'' I wasso aghast that I could only shake my headvehemently when she asked if I had saidit on purpose. When she found that Iwas innocent of any design, she evidentlyregretted her confession, and begged menot to let Mr. Watson suspect that shehad told me anything. She would saythat my cards had hit upon the truth byaccident. She pleaded with me to behaveas usual, so the passengers wouldnotice no change in us. I felt that I wascalled upon to say "Avaunt, woman!" orsomething equally reproving, and wassurprised to find myself sorry for the poorcreature and agreeing to keep my seatwith them for the next two days. Theyleft then at Auckland and I never sawthem again. Though, under the circumstances,I was glad they went, I missedtheir company, for I had'made no otherfriends on board except the nice Mr.James, the young man who was so kindto Austin.He drew up his chair alongside of mine,and I didn't see why I shouldn't be friendlywith him. In travelling across Americahe had been caught in the Johnstownflood, and his thrilling experiences duringthat terrible time made an interestingstory. He had an agreeable tenor voiceand sang old-fashioned Irish ballads," Willie in the Rushes O " and " The CruiskeenLaun," as our ship sped over thewaters under the lovely tropical stars.One evening, when he had ordered" squashes," as they call lemonade in Australia,I happened to notice how he signedthe check. I glanced at it and said innocently: " You write that as though it werenot your real name." He looked startledand asked what I meant. "Well," I explained,"people have a peculiar way ofsigning their own names—some littleflourish or quirk. You write it out asthough it were a pound of flour." I wasto remember that incident later.We reached Sydney on a beautiful,clear, sunny day, steaming in through thelovely harbor on water as smooth as silk.We drew in so close to the public gardensthat border the water-front that I couldhave thrown a ball to the children playingon the esplanade.It was a strange sensation to arriveabsolutely unknown in a foreign land.Every other passenger was eagerly hailingsome one on shore, and all went theirdifferent ways in little groups of excitedfriends. But I was not daunted. It wasin a spirit of high adventure that I ledmy little son by the hand and stepped footupon the "antipodes."We went at once, according to instructions,to the Oxford Inn on George Street,and it was there our fellow passenger, Mr.James, found us when he came to call.He, Austin, and I spent a very pleasant

Hooray! Your file is uploaded and ready to be published.

Saved successfully!

Ooh no, something went wrong!