Their Silver Wedding Journey — Volume 1Howells, William Dean
General
Their Silver Wedding Journey — Volume 1
Howells, William Dean
Americans -- Europe -- Fiction; Transatlantic voyages -- Fiction
"I know," said the other lady, with caressing intelligence. "That is just
the way with--" She stopped, and looked at the young man whom the head
steward was bringing up to take the vacant place next to March. He came
forward, stuffing his cap into the pocket of his blue serge sack, and
smiled down on the company with such happiness in his gay eyes that March
wondered what chance at this late day could have given any human creature
his content so absolute, and what calamity could be lurking round the
corner to take it out of him. The new-comer looked at March as if he knew
him, and March saw at a second glance that he was the young fellow who
had told him about the mother put off after the start. He asked him
whether there was any change in the weather yet outside, and he answered
eagerly, as if the chance to put his happiness into the mere sound of
words were a favor done him, that their ship had just spoken one of the
big Hanseatic mailboats, and she had signalled back that she had met ice;
so that they would probably keep a southerly course, and not have it
cooler till they were off the Banks.
The mother of the boy said, "I thought we must be off the Banks when I
came out of my room, but it was only the electric fan at the foot of the
stairs."
"That was what I thought," said Mrs. March. "I almost sent my husband
back for my shawl!" Both the ladies laughed and liked each other for
their common experience.
The gentleman at the head of the table said, "They ought to have fans
going there by that pillar, or else close the ports. They only let in
heat."
They easily conformed to the American convention of jocosity in their
talk; it perhaps no more represents the individual mood than the
convention of dulness among other people; but it seemed to make the young
man feel at home.
"Why, do you think it's uncomfortably warm?" he asked, from what March
perceived to be a meteorology of his own. He laughed and added, "It is
pretty summerlike," as if he had not thought of it before. He talked of
the big mail-boat, and said he would like to cross on such a boat as
that, and then he glanced at the possible advantage of having your own
steam-yacht like the one which he said they had just passed, so near that
you could see what a good time the people were having on board. He began
to speak to the Marches; his talk spread to the young couple across the
table; it visited the mother on the sofa in a remark which she might
ignore without apparent rejection, and without really avoiding the boy,
it glanced off toward the father and daughter, from whom it fell, to rest
with the gentleman at the head of the table.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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