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Updated: May 9, 2025
What day did I tell you this was?" "Friday." "A week! And I told her to expect me Monday afternoon. A week without a word or a sign of any kind! Well, I might as well take passage in the Aroostook, and go back to Boston again." "Why, no!" cried Dunham, "you must take the first train to Venice. Don't lose an instant. You can explain everything as soon as you see her." Staniford shook his head.
Dunham," he asked, "do you think I'd better telegraph?" "What would you say?" "Say that there's been a mistake; that a letter miscarried; that I'll be there in the morning; that " "Wouldn't that be taking her anxiety a little too much for granted?" "Yes, that's true. Well, you've got your wits about you now, Dunham," cried Staniford, with illogical bitterness.
It vexed Staniford, when he had so nearly got the compass of her social life, to find this unexplored corner in it. "And I suppose you are leaving very agreeable friends among the teachers?" "Some of them are pleasant. But I don't know them very well. I've only been to one of the picnics." Staniford drew a long, silent breath. After all, he knew everything.
"Some people feel a little queer at sea in the beginning. And you haven't at all?" He could not help this leading question, yet he knew its meanness, and felt remorse for it. "Oh, I did, at first," responded the girl, but went no farther; and Staniford was glad of it. After all, why should he care to know what was in her mind?
I think I've had a fall, somewhere. Help me in." Staniford got out and helped him gently to the seat, and then mounted beside him, giving the order for their return. "Where is your hat?" he asked, finding that Dunham was bareheaded. "I don't know. It doesn't matter. Am I bleeding?" "It's so dark, I can't see." "Put your hand here." He carried Staniford's hand to the back of his head.
I ought to have asked you first." "Oh, no," said Staniford. "It was yours." "You gave it to me," she returned. "Well, then, it was yours, to keep, to lend, to throw away." "And you didn't mind my lending it to him?" she pursued. She stopped, and Staniford hesitated, too. Then he said, "I didn't dislike your lending it; I disliked his having it. I will acknowledge that."
"Captain," he screamed, appealing even in this extremity to his superior, "shall I fetch him one?" "No, no!" cried Staniford, springing from his chair; "don't hit him! He isn't responsible. Let's get him into his room." "Fetch me one, heh?" said Hicks, rising, with dignity, and beginning to turn up his cuffs. "One! It'll take more than one, fetch me. Stan' up, 'f you're man enough."
"I'm afraid sometimes," she faltered, as if his manner in regard to this peculiar place had been hopelessly exclusive, "that it will be almost too strange." "Oh, that's another matter," said Staniford. "I confess I should be rather curious to know whether you liked Venice. I like it, but I can imagine myself sympathizing with people who detested it, if they said so.
She seemed on very good terms with him, and he was talking and making her laugh as Staniford had never heard her laugh before so freely, so heartily. The atoms that had been tending in Staniford's being toward a certain form suddenly arrested and shaped themselves anew at the vibration imparted by this laughter.
Watterson, refused the luxuries which his bounty provided them, and at the constancy with which Staniford declined some of these dishes, and Hicks declined others. Shortly after the latter began more distinctly to be tolerated, he appeared one day on deck with a steamer-chair in his hand, and offered it to Lydia's use, where she sat on a stool by the bulwark.
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