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As we ascended the accommodation ladder I saw nothing save a young man with thick gauntlets standing guard over an iron wheel valve in a big pipe that ran along the deck. A stout, iron-grey man in uniform was leaning against the sky-light on the poop-deck as we came past the funnels. With a slight bashfulness Mr. Carville turned, and making a vague introductory gesture, pronounced our names.
"The trouble is, you know," went on Mr. Carville, "one thing leads to another. You can't understand what I am without knowing how my brother and I came to be so antagonistic. And to explain that it's necessary to show you how I grew up in this professional, easy-going, snobby atmosphere and took it all in, while he, my brother, cut out his own course and went his own way in defiance of everything.
I had a momentary sense of gratification that even a seasoned seafarer like Mr. Carville should feel no shame in taking shelter from the inclement weather. "Good evening, sir," he said imperturbably. "Homeward bound?" "Sure," I said, putting down a cent and taking up the Manhattan Mail, an evening journal of modest headlines. "I suppose you are coming out, too?"
Carville per se, Miss Fraenkel's opinion of the painter-cousin's discovery would be interesting only for its novelty and irrelevance. I did not express my conviction quite as frankly as this, since my friend, though in sympathy with his wife's matrimonial plans, could not forbear to indulge in a mild hazing at my expense. I contented myself with opening the piano and pushing him into the seat.
My friend's laconic exposition only deepened the dramatic quality of the situation. For an author I had been singularly luckless in meeting drama in my life. I had often had my artistic cupidity excited by Mr. Carville, by the way he was continually having stimulating adventures of the soul.
Carville has secreted it, distilled it to a quintessence, and the result is well, something in his tone and manner quite unusual." "Yes, that's all right enough," assented Mac, "but I still don't quite see how his brother couples-up with that chap Cecil wrote about." "Well, I don't either," I replied, "but you must remember that Mr. Carville has told us so far only of the past.
The Chief laughed when I told him. 'And you'll see him in Genoa, he says; 'yon turret steamer's goin' there too, I did see him. In a way, he introduced me to my wife." Mr. Carville paused and struck a match. Bill's head appeared at the window. "Oh!" she said, "I thought you were never coming to it!" He proceeded, carefully putting the burnt match on the window-sill and blowing great clouds.
Carville was fond of using this ejaculation of his in a double sense, if I may say so. As he spoke his eyes were fixed with some interest upon four of our neighbours, who had seated themselves near us and had laid a grey mill-board card-table across their knees.
The problem that presented itself when I retired that night was immaterial, perhaps, but new. I wondered quietly in what manner Mr. Carville would regard Miss Fraenkel. Doubtless I was over-exacting, but I desired to discover, in our neighbour's attitude towards the lady, some clue to his attitude towards us.
I did think of doing something with a few papers I've got in my berth on the Raritan, but I don't know." "Why not let me have a look at them?" I said. "I might act as a sort of an agent for you, unpaid of course " "Much obliged," said Mr. Carville placidly, "but I don't know as you need bother. I threw a book over the side once." "A manuscript!" I said, aghast. He nodded, looking at his boots.
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