Richard Gordon - DOCTOR AT SEA

While I was examining these bleak thoughts Trail came and leaned next to me. We discussed our condition in a few words.

'There's not much to be done here if you're broke,' he observed. 'We could rustle up enough to go to the pictures, I suppose.'

'I can do that in London.'

'That's true. They've got some nice parks, so they tell me.'

We had adjusted ourselves to a dull stay in one of the world's gayest capitals when a bright ray of entertainment abruptly shone into our lives from an unexpected source. I was lying on my bunk after dinner, reading the first paragraph of _War and Peace_ with the drowsy inattentive righteousness of a good churchgoer sitting through a summer sermon, when Easter pulled aside the curtain across the doorway.

'Father's compliments,' he said. 'And will you come to his cabin, pronto.'

'Oh, lord! What's eating the old boy now?'

'Search me, Doctor. He's getting the Mate up there, and the Hunk.'

'Hunk?'

'Chief Steward, Mr. Whimble.'

'Very well.' I rolled off the bunk and took my cap from the hook over the desk. 'I hope it isn't his stomach again.'

Hornbeam and Whimble were already sitting on the settee in the Captain's cabin. McDougall was in one of the armchairs. On either side of the desk sat Captain Hogg and Mr. Montmorency, the Fathom Line's manager in Buenos Aires. All of them were smoking cigars and drinking liqueurs.

'Ah, Doctor, come in!' Mr. Montmorency called, as I pushed the door curtain away. He got up and seized me by the hand. 'Have a seat. Move over there, Mr. Whimble. Cigar? Real Havana. Won't find them in England, eh? Benedictine, Curaзao, or brandy? Some Kummel, perhaps? Or a flash of the old starboard light?'

'Benedictine will do nicely,' I said. I sat down between Whimble and Hornbeam, while Mr. Montmorency lit my cigar. He was a lean, brown man with a brisk black moustache, dressed in a crisp linen suit. He was an office-wallah, and therefore formally despised; but he was secretly respected as an important and dangerous man in the lives of everyone who depended on the Fathom Line for their pay. Beneath the sunburnt hearty crust was a sharp brain eager to send damning cables to St. Mary Axe, where a few words of code could hold up a man's promotion for ten years or tip him back into the uncertain currents of the shipping pool. Even Captain Hogg was affable to Mr. Montmorency.

'Right, gentlemen,' Mr. Montmorency went on forcefully. 'I have asked you up here to-day for a particular reason, apart from having the pleasure of meeting you. Captain Hogg assures me, I am glad to say, that he thinks highly of your services under his command.'

'A very happy ship,' Captain Hogg declared. He swallowed half a tumbler of Benedictine and glared at the rest of us in defiance of contradiction.

'I am sure it is, Captain. Now, gentlemen, I am going to talk to you on a most serious topic. It is British Prestige.' He took on his smartest Chamber of Commerce manner. 'It is hardly necessary for me to trace the course of events in this bustling sub-continent since the cessation of hostilities-hostilities, gentlemen, in which the Company we represent suffered as grievously as any-but you will, I am sure, all appreciate that the interest of our Motherland in its affairs has increased rather than diminished, though in the face of severe and sometimes to us inexplicable, opposition. Some more Benedictine, Captain?'

'Thank you, Mr. Montmorency.'

'Pass the bottle round, gentlemen. As I was saying. The tail of the British lion has been severely put out of joint…'

He went on about the Old Red Duster, Free Trade, the Socialists, Nationalization, Hard Times, the necessity to pull together, put our shoulders to the wheel, steer a straight course, and not rock the boat. All of us were hazily wondering where the speech was leading him and uneasily contemplating our own guilty consciences. I nervously calculated the turnover in Easter's dockside pharmaceutical dealings, Hornbeam thought anxiously about his stevedores' presents, and Whimble was wondering how to account for the ham and two cases of tinned pears that had somehow vanished between Santos and the River Plate. But, if these skeletons were visible to the penetrating eye of Mr. Montmorency, he was not going to mention it. I suddenly realized he was saying…there will, of course, be a running buffet and the best we can do in the way of drinks. It will give the British colony here a bit of an outing, reassure the local businessmen, send up the prestige of the Line, and, in a small way, that of the Old Country. Besides, gentlemen, it will fittingly usher in the New Year. Any comments?'

McDougall, who had fallen asleep, woke up at the words 'New Year' and blew his nose loudly.

'A very generous offer,' Captain Hogg growled. 'On behalf of my officers and crew, I should like to express my gratitude to the management.'

'Thank you, Captain. Now, gentlemen, you are the senior officers. You know my plans, and I expect you to make it a success. This dance on shipboard must be remembered in Buenos Aires as one of the events of the season.'

A dance on shipboard…I saw at once Tissot's painting-matchwood decks, fragile rails, graceful bright brasswork; summery officers with downy whiskers; in gold and blue and white; clean sailors, contented bandsmen, delicate ladies in sprays of frills; frail parasols pirouetting beneath a canopy of the majestic ensigns of half a dozen now forgotten empires…Into this they were going to turn the Lotus, tied up by a meat works.

The news of the New Year's Eve Dance fell upon the ship's company like a heavy breaker on the beach, overwhelming the minor ripples already set up by our misfortunes in the Saratoga the previous night. Reactions to the party differed sharply. Easter was frankly disgusted.

'I ask you!' he said, coming into my cabin and tossing an armful of my clean laundry peevishly on the bunk. 'What a lash-up! Fags, fairy-lights, and ladies' lavatories! Cor! I dunno what they think this hooker is. The _Queen Mary_ isn't in it.'

'Surely, Easter, after your experience on the transatlantic boats you would welcome a touch of the atmosphere of a large liner?'

'What, on this old tramp? First-class smoke-room now, that's different. All the nobs in there getting stinko, not noticing you rook 'em on the measure. And slipping you a quid or two to show 'em the way to some young bit's cabin-discreet like. What are we going to get on this old tub? Crowd of shore-wallahs looking for free booze, that's what. Fat lot of good that is!'

'You may be able to interest some of them in the three-card trick.'

He brightened a little. 'I might, that, Doctor. But there ain't no flies on them round these parts.'

Trail was ecstatic. 'Have you seen this, Doc?' he called to me the next day, waving a sheet of typewritten paper. 'Lists of guests. Take a dekko. Don't bother with this lot, Ambassador, Bishop, and so on, asked but not able to come…Look here-Mister and Missus _and daughter._ Here _again-_and daughters._ All the way down-_Miss, Miss, Miss. Lovely grub! The ship'll be like a bloody harem by eight bells!'

'I don't think you ought to get over-excited, Three-o. The Misses are probably elderly ladies, pillars of the Mission, and the daughters will most likely be still in short frocks. In any event, you can be sure they'll be kept under strict supervision by their watchful parents on a ship like this.'

'Steady on, Doc! There's bound to be some nice bits of crumpet among them. I think I know this one down here, anyway. Used to work in the Company's offices on Corrientes.' He rubbed his hands. 'It's going to be a Happy New Year, and no mistake.'

Hornbeam was less enthusiastic. 'More work for the bloody Mate,' he said. 'Half the bunting's gone mouldy and the Bos'n flogged the canvas awnings in the Canaries last trip. How the hell can I get the boatdeck holystoned and painted in three days? I bet we're short of Scotch homeward bound on the strength of it, too.'