meantime, the skipping goone was taking on a lively appearance indeed, as the great sailing day drew close. she had hugged her wharf so long in apathetic solitude that it had begun to look as though she might be destined just to settle down in the peaceful calm of the harbour for the remainder of her days. she seemed a little weary and careless of reputation. small urchins of the wharf played familiarly all over her decks, while a shore cat, who would have raised her paws in horror at the thought of becoming a ship’s cat, had strayed aboard through pardonable misapprehension and become parent to a generous brood of kittens. the hawsers had taken on a staid and permanent look. but lo! a great change was come about, and the skipping goone strained at her moorings, ready to launch forth upon the most strenuous period of her career.

it was at length the very eve of departure. jerome had[68] been feeling very sad, with the hour of severance so nearly arrived; but as the night wore on he felt less and less sad in proportion to the augmenting glasses of claret poured out for him by the incomparable lili, who, herself in a distinctly uplifted state, didn’t leave off beaming at all. his, just now, were sensations he could wish to prolong into an eternity; they eased his hurt at the same time that they encouraged in him a feeling that he might, if he would, cut a tremendous figure in life. could stella look in upon him now here in the dazzling midst of girardin’s french table d’hôte, surrounded by gay opera singers making the most of their last night on shore, she would think there had been strides since the day they had quarrelled in the fog.

“pass the bottle along down, dear old dear!” somebody shouted.

all things considered, it was a remarkably democratic aggregation of songbirds. naturally when he boasted about its being one big family, the impresario exaggerated a little; for of course there was a perpetual swarm of petty jealousies and artistic differences—though what are most families like, anyhow? by and large, the troupe was an extraordinary model of ruined caste.

when the fun was at its height, curry waved a gem-encrusted hand, gave his songbirds a departing smile, and removed himself to a distant corner of the restaurant where he could spread out all those “dreadful lists and things” which captain bearman insisted must be checked up. his retreat was deplored by a prodigious groan, and impulsively covered by lili, who chased after him with a slopping goblet of wine and a depleted plate of sandwiches. “so you won’t starve to death, old dear!” and she flung her arms spontaneously round his neck before returning to beam upon her clerk.

“you’d think it ought to be an easy thing to run a schooner,” curry smiled up wanly at m. girardin, who had strolled over from his little cash booth in a relaxed mood.[69] “but lord! there’s been nothing but trouble from the word go!” captain bearman was turning out to be a master full of whines and unforeseen exactions. there had been endless fault to find with the shipping goone. “what a vessel! sails rotten, hull rotten! rudder in the last stages!” apparently there was nothing quite right about the poor old skipping goone, of which the impresario had been so proud, except perhaps the new coat of paint—and even the colour of that had been grumblingly objected to as unnautical. “and then,” girardin was told, “the cargo!”

“but mon dieu, do you intend to handle it all yourself? have you no business manager, par example?”

“well, perhaps not in the strict sense,” admitted mr. curry in his petitioning, confidential way. “there’s a sort of treasurer—you see that man just waving the bottle? but he just handles the box office receipts. then i’ve got a kind of assistant, too, who’s supposed to do things; but he’s been so crazy to go on the stage that i’ve had to let him sing in the chorus, and that seems to make him not much good for anything else.”

an unusual amount of commotion on the other side of the restaurant made them look across. most of the troupers had had sense, but a few were in a very mellow condition—notably jerome, who wasn’t used to stimulants and so reacted to them with awful completeness. the songbirds were grouped in a crowding and boisterous circle. one of the men was whistling a jig tune, and several were clapping their hands in syncopated time, while in the centre, very much flushed and largely unable to keep his balance, was jerome, doing the sailor’s hornpipe.