“I thought you said the sea was like a mill-pond.” “It wasn’t that! He’s perfectly fit. But it seems that the silly ass took it into his head to propose to Billie just before dinner—apparently he’s loved her for years in a silent, self-effacing way—and of course she told him that she was engaged to me, and the thing upset him to such an extent that he says the idea of sitting down at a piano and helping me give an imitation of Frank Tinney revolts him. He says he intends to spend the evening in bed, reading Schopenhauer. I hope it chokes him!” “But this is splendid! This lets you out.” “What do you mean? Lets me out?” “Why, now you won’t be able to appear. Oh, you will be thankful for this in years to come.” “Won’t I appear! Won’t I dashed well appear! Do you think I’m going to disappoint that dear girl when she is relying on me? I would rather die.” “But you can’t appear without a pianist.” “I’ve got a pianist.” “You have?” “Yes. A little undersized shrimp of a fellow with a green face and ears like water-wings.” “I don’t think I know him.” “Yes, you do. He’s you!” “Me!” “Yes, you. You are going to sit at the piano to-night.” “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s impossible. I gave you my views on the subject just now.” “You’ve altered them.” “I haven’t.” “Well, you soon will, and I’ll tell you why. If you don’t get up out of that damned berth you’ve been roosting in all your life, I’m going to ring for J. B. Midgeley and I’m going to tell him to bring me a bit of dinner in here and I’m going to eat it before your eyes.” “But you’ve had dinner.” “Well, I’ll have another. I feel just ready for a nice fat pork chop....” “Stop! Stop!” “A nice fat pork chop with potatoes and lots of cabbage,” repeated Sam firmly. “And I shall eat it here on this very lounge. Now how do we go?” “You wouldn’t do that!” said Eustace piteously. “I would and will.” “But I shouldn’t be any good at the piano. I’ve forgotten how the thing used to go.” “You haven’t done anything of the kind. I come in and say ‘Hullo, Ernest!’ and you say ‘Hullo, Frank!’ and then you help me tell the story about the Pullman car. A child could do your part of it.” “Perhaps there is some child on board....” “No. I want you. I shall feel safe with you. We’ve done it together before.” “But, honestly, I really don’t think ... it isn’t as if....” Sam rose and extended a finger towards the bell. “Stop! Stop!” cried Eustace Hignett. “I’ll do it!” Sam withdrew his finger. “Good!” he said. “We’ve just got time for a rehearsal while you’re dressing. ‘Hullo, Ernest!’” “‘Hullo, Frank,’” said Eustace Hignett brokenly as he searched for his unfamiliar trousers. CHAPTER VI. SCENE AT A SHIP’S CONCERT