She and the elderly man were talking
animatedly. The little boy pulled the man's arm several times gently,
and said "Father," but he did not notice.
There were piles of sliced bread at intervals up the table, and saucers
containing butter and jam. The stewards came to each person with an
enormous pair of pots and, murmuring "tea or coffee?" poured something
by sleight-of-hand into the thick, unbreakable cups.
"Father!" murmured the little boy again, pulling his father's sleeve.
The father shook his arm impatiently, as one jerks away an annoying fly.
He went on talking absorbedly. A steward asked if Marcella would have
ham or fish.
"Father," said the little boy, with quivering lips.
"What's to do, laddie?" said Marcella.
He stared at her, summed her up and decided.
"I'm thinking, shall I have ham or fish?" he said seriously.
"Which do you like?"
"Fish--only the bones are so worrying."
"I'll see to the bones for you. Have fish because I'm having it, and we
can keep each other company," she said. Knollys darted away.
"I'd advise you to make a good tea, miss," said Knollys with a firmly
respectful air. "There's nothing until breakfast at eight to-morrow."
Marcella nodded at him. Next minute she heard Ole Fred swearing at him
for not being quicker, but Knollys took it all with an impersonally
sarcastic air.
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