Dunham followed Staniford to their room, and helped him off with his wet clothes. He tried to say something ideally fit in recognition of his heroic act, and he articulated some bald commonplaces of praise, and shook Staniford's clammy hand. “Yes,” said the latter, submitting; “but the difficulty about a thing of this sort is that you don't know whether you haven't been an ass1. It has been pawed over so much by the romancers that you don't feel like a hero in real life, but a hero of fiction. I've a notion that Hicks and I looked rather ridiculous going over the ship's side; I know we did, coming back. No man can reveal his greatness of soul in wet clothes. Did Miss Blood laugh?”
“Staniford!” said Dunham, in an accent of reproach. “You do her great injustice3. She felt what you had done in the way you would wish,—if you cared.”
“What did she say?” asked Staniford, quickly.
“Nothing. But—”
“That's an easy way of expressing one's admiration4 of heroic behavior. I hope she'll stick to that line. I hope she won't feel it at all necessary to say anything in recognition of my prowess; it would be extremely embarrassing. I've got Hicks back again, but I couldn't stand any gratitude5 for it. Not that I'm ashamed of the performance. Perhaps if it had been anybody but Hicks, I should have waited for them to lower a boat. But Hicks had peculiar6 claims. You couldn't let a man you disliked so much welter round a great while. Where is the poor old fellow? Is he clothed and in his right mind again?”
“He seemed to be sober enough,” said Dunham, “when he came on board; but I don't think he's out yet.”
“We must let Thomas in to gather up this bathing-suit,” observed Staniford. “What a Newportish flavor it gives the place!” He was excited, and in great gayety of spirits.
He and Dunham went out into the cabin, where they found Captain Jenness pacing to and fro. “Well, sir,” he said, taking Staniford's hand, and crossing his right with his left, so as to include Dunham in his congratulations, “you ought to have been a sailor!” Then he added, as if the unqualified praise might seem fulsome7, “But if you'd been a sailor, you wouldn't have tried a thing like that. You'd have had more sense. The chances were ten to one against you.”
Staniford laughed. “Was it so bad as that? I shall begin to respect myself.”
The captain did not answer, but his iron grip closed hard upon Staniford's hand, and he frowned in keen inspection8 of Hicks, who at that moment came out of his state-room, looking pale and quite sobered. Captain Jenness surveyed him from head to foot, and then from foot to head, and pausing at the level of his eyes he said, still holding Staniford by the hand: “The trouble with a man aboard ship is that he can't turn a blackguard out-of-doors just when he likes. The Aroostook puts in at Messina. You'll be treated well till we get there, and then if I find you on my vessel9 five minutes after she comes to anchor, I'll heave you overboard, and I'll take care that nobody jumps after you. Do you hear? And you won't find me doing any such fool kindness as I did when I took you on board, soon again.”
“Oh, I say, Captain Jenness,” began Staniford.
“He's all right,” interrupted Hicks. “I'm a blackguard; I know it; and I don't think I was worth fishing up. But you've done it, and I mustn't go back on you, I suppose.” He lifted his poor, weak, bad little face, and looked Staniford in the eyes with a pathos10 that belied11 the slang of his speech. The latter released his hand from Captain Jenness and gave it to Hicks, who wrung12 it, as he kept looking him in the eyes, while his lips twitched13 pitifully, like a child's. The captain gave a quick snort either of disgust or of sympathy, and turned abruptly14 about and bundled himself up out of the cabin.
“I say!” exclaimed Staniford, “a cup of coffee wouldn't be bad, would it? Let's have some coffee, Thomas, about as quick as the cook can make it,” he added, as the boy came out from his stateroom with a lump of wet clothes in his hands. “You wanted some coffee a little while ago,” he said to Hicks, who hung his head at the joke.
For the rest of the day Staniford was the hero of the ship. The men looked at him from a distance, and talked of him together. Mr. Watterson hung about whenever Captain Jenness drew near him, as if in the hope of overhearing some acceptable expression in which he could second his superior officer. Failing this, and being driven to despair, “Find the water pretty cold, sir?” he asked at last; and after that seemed to feel that he had discharged his duty as well as might be under the extraordinary circumstances.
The second mate, during the course of the afternoon, contrived15 to pass near Staniford. “Why, there wa'n't no need of your doing it,” he said, in a bated tone. “I could ha' had him out with the boat, soon enough.”
Staniford treasured up these meagre expressions of the general approbation16, and would not have had them different. From this time, within the narrow bounds that brought them all necessarily together in some sort, Hicks abolished himself as nearly as possible. He chose often to join the second mate at meals, which Mr. Mason, in accordance with the discipline of the ship, took apart both from the crew and his superior officers. Mason treated the voluntary outcast with a sort of sarcastic17 compassion18, as a man whose fallen state was not without its points as a joke to the indifferent observer, and yet might appeal to the pity of one who knew such cases through the misery19 they inflicted20. Staniford heard him telling Hicks about his brother-in-law, and dwelling21 upon the peculiar relief which the appearance of his name in the mortality list gave all concerned in him. Hicks listened in apathetic22 patience and acquiescence23; but Staniford thought that he enjoyed, as much as he could enjoy anything, the second officer's frankness. For his own part, he found that having made bold to keep this man in the world he had assumed a curious responsibility towards him. It became his business to show him that he was not shunned24 by his fellow-creatures, to hearten and cheer him up. It was heavy work. Hicks with his joke was sometimes odious25 company, but he was also sometimes amusing; without it, he was of a terribly dull conversation. He accepted Staniford's friendliness26 too meekly27 for good comradery; he let it add, apparently28, to his burden of gratitude, rather than lessen29 it. Staniford smoked with him, and told him stories; he walked up and down with him, and made a point of parading their good understanding, but his spirits seemed to sink the lower. “Deuce take him!” mused30 his benefactor31; “he's in love with her!” But he now had the satisfaction, such as it was, of seeing that if he was in love he was quite without hope. Lydia had never relented in her abhorrence32 of Hicks since the day of his disgrace. There seemed no scorn in her condemnation33, but neither was there any mercy. In her simple life she had kept unsophisticated the severe morality of a child, and it was this that judged him, that found him unpardonable and outlawed34 him. He had never ventured to speak to her since that day, and Staniford never saw her look at him except when Hicks was not looking, and then with a repulsion which was very curious. Staniford could have pitied him, and might have interceded35 so far as to set him nearer right in her eyes; but he felt that she avoided him, too; there were no more walks on the deck, no more readings in the cabin; the checker-board, which p............