Fleming, the
New York politician, kept the smoking-room merry, listening to the
stories he told. He varied the proceedings by frequently asking everybody
to drink with him, an invitation that met with no general refusal. Old
Mr. Longworth dozed most of his time in his steamer chair. Wentworth, who
still bitterly accused himself of having been a fool, talked with no one,
not even his friend Kenyon. All the time, the great steamship kept
forging along through the reasonably calm water just as if nothing had
happened or was going to happen. There had been one day of rain, and one
night and part of a day of storm. Saturday morning broke, and it was
expected that some time in the night Queenstown would be reached. Early
on Saturday morning the clouds looked lowering, as they have a right to
look near Ireland.
Wentworth, the cause of all the worry, gave Kenyon very little assistance
in the matter that troubled his mind. He was in the habit, when the
subject was referred to, of thrusting his hands into his hair, or
plunging them down into his pockets, and breaking out into language which
was as deplorable as it was expressive. The more Kenyon advised him to be
calm, the less Wentworth followed that advice. As a general thing, he
spent most of his time alone in a very gloomy state of mind. On one
occasion when the genial Fleming slapped him on the shoulder, Wentworth,
to his great astonishment, turned fiercely round and cried:
'If you do that again, sir, I'll knock you down.
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