" Seems
to me 'twas chopped hay we had that morning--either that or shavings; I
always get them breakfast foods mixed up.
But 'twa'n't the hay that made everybody set up and take notice. 'Twas
the waiter himself. Our regular steward was a spindling little critter
with curls and eye-glasses who answered to the hail of "Percy." This
fellow clogged up the scenery like a pet elephant, and was down in the
shipping list as "Jones."
The doc left his invalid hanging on the edge of the grave, and stopped
and stared. Old Mrs. Bounderby h'isted the gold-mounted double spyglass
she had slung round her neck and took an observation. Her daughter
"Maizie" fetched a long breath and shut her eyes, like she'd seen her
finish and was resigned to it.
"Well, Mr. Jones," says I, soon's I could get my breath, "this is kind
of unexpected, ain't it? Thought you was booked for the main deck."
"Yes, sir," he says, polite as a sewing-machine agent, "I was, but Percy
and I have exchanged. Cereal this morning, madam?"
Mrs. Bounderby took her measure of shavings and Jones's measure at the
same time. She had him labeled "Danger" right off; you could tell that
by the way she spread her wings over "Maizie." But I wa'n't watching her
just then. I was looking at Mabel Seabury--looking and wondering.
The housekeeper was white as the tablecloth. She stared at the Jones
man as if she couldn't believe her eyes, and her breath come short and
quick.
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