Читать книгу White Wings and Blue Water - George E. Rochester - Страница 6

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“Boo-hoo-hoo-ooo!” bawled Ogden, holding his ringing ears. “Aw-ww, dear—boo-hoo-hoo-ooo!”

“You asked for it, kickin’ the young lady thataways,” growled Mr. Bowker. “You oughta be ashamed of yourself. I’m sorry, miss,” he apologised to Miss Hayward.

“Can’t you control him?” she asked, rubbing her shin, her eyes watering with pain. “He’s in your charge, isn’t he?”

“He is, but he ain’t so easy controlled,” sighed the bodyguard dismally. “You dunno the half of it. Times are when I figger I’d be better off as a wild beast tamer. He’s spoilt, that’s his trouble. Spoilt, petted an’ pampered by his Mom and his Pop. Howsumever, I’ll see he behaves himself from now on so long as we’re aboard this here aircraft.”

He grabbed the sobbing Ogden by the arm and yanked him roughly down into the seat beside him.

“Now sit here!” he ordered. “And if I have any more of your sass I’ll give you a crack myself, even if it does cost me my job. I’m wearied to death with you and I ain’t gonna stand much more of it, so get that into your silly fathead and get it straight!”

“But she hur-hur-hit me!” blubbered Ogden.

“Sure, she hit you,” agreed Mr. Bowker unfeelingly. “And that British boy, he pomaded your hair with marmalade. And for why? Because you was sassy, that’s for why. Jumpin’ jiminy! won’t you never learn that your sass only gets you into trouble? I keep telling you it does, but you won’t never lissen. Well,” he added with dark satisfaction, “now you’re beginning to learn, I reckon.”

“Try to make him behave for the sake of the other passengers, won’t you?” said the air hostess, preparing to move away.

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” promised Mr. Bowker.

The girl limped away. As she reached where Buck and Beth were sitting, the latter said sympathetically:

“Did the little beast hurt you very much?”

“Yes, he did, rather,” said the air hostess. “I’ve got quite a bruise. I’m going along to put some ointment on it.”

“I’m jolly glad you boxed his ears, anyway,” said Buck admiringly. “That was just the job.”

“Yes, but it might cost me my position,” said the air hostess. “It will, if a complaint is made and if the company take a serious view of it. I don’t as a rule lose my temper with passengers—I haven’t done so until now—but when he kicked me on the shin something seemed to snap inside me and”—with a shrug of her shoulders—“well, that was that!”

“You won’t lose you job over it, don’t you worry,” said Buck. “We all saw what happened and I bet everybody aboard is right in your corner. I know Beth and I are. I’ll sound a few of the others and, if necessary, I’ll get ’em to sign a round robin saying that you did the only thing possible and were acting in the best interests of the company and the passengers in squashing the little pest.”

“She was acting in self-defence as well,” put in Beth.

“Yes, in self-defence as well,” agreed Buck. “We’ll put that in the round robin along with the rest of it.”

“No, please, don’t trouble to do anything of the sort,” said Miss Hayward. “It’s extremely good of you and I appreciate it very much, but it’s not necessary. Really, it isn’t.”

“Yes, but it might be if old Silas P. Pugg starts kicking up a fuss, which is quite likely the way he seems to dote on Ogden,” argued Buck. “Anyway, it’ll do no harm you having a statement signed by all the passengers saying you were in the right. You leave this to Beth and me.”

“No, please!” begged the girl.

“We’re going to do it, just to be on the safe side,” declared Buck. “What do you say, Beth?”

“Yes, of course,” agreed Beth promptly.

Seeing they were determined, the air hostess argued no further, but continued aft to attend to the bruise on her leg. Producing his fountain pen and assisted by Beth, Buck commenced to draft out the round robin on the back of an envelope which Beth took from her handbag.

By this time the Falcon was far out over the Pacific; above her, as she thundered on through the high air, the vast and boundless vault of blue; below her, another limitless and glittering expanse of blue, which was the sea.

After many crossings-out and alterations, Buck and Beth finally produced the following statement, neatly written on the back of a menu card in Beth’s best handwriting:

“We, the undersigned, having witnessed the completely unprovoked attack made on Miss Hayward, air hostess, by Ogden Pugg, do hereby declare that Miss Hayward was acting solely in self-defence and in the best interests of the passengers and the Company in boxing Ogden Pugg’s ears.

“Signed ..............”

“It reads jolly well, you know,” said Buck. “I bet a lawyer couldn’t have put it more clearly, and if there is any trouble it ought to see Miss Hayward all right. I’ll get it signed.”

He rose and approached the swarthy-faced, well-dressed man, who was still playing cards with his three companions.

“Excuse me!” he said politely. “I don’t like to butt in, but I wonder if you gentlemen would mind signing this?”

“What is it?” snapped the swarthy-faced man as Buck proffered him the menu card.

“It’s a round robin,” exclaimed Buck. “There’s quite a chance that Miss Hayward, the air hostess, might get the sack for boxing Ogden Pugg’s ears, but this will help her. At least, we’re hoping it will.”

The four men exchanged glances; then, taking the card, the swarthy-faced one read it aloud to the other three. Having come to the end of the statement, he laughed and again the four of them looked at each other.

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t sign it,” he said. “It’ll do no harm even if it does no good; and, after all, the little squirt did call us card-sharpers.”

Taking his fountain pen from his pocket, he signed the statement, then shoved it and the pen across the table to the nearest of his companions.

“Thanks, awfully!” said Buck when the other three had appended their signatures. “This will help no end. What I mean to say is, it’ll encourage the rest of the passengers to sign.”

“Okay. Beat it!” said the swarthy-faced man curtly, picking up his cards.

There was a rudeness about the summary dismissal which angered Buck. But he had got what he wanted, so he moved away from the table. As he approached the next passenger, an elderly, angular and expensively dressed lady, he glanced at the four signatures. Written one below the other, they read:

“H. Stubbs.

William Fenton.

J. Cooper.

Hiram K. Shaw.”

So the swarthy-faced man’s name was Stubbs, reflected Buck. Not that it really mattered what his name was, but he was an unpleasant type.

“Excuse me, but I wonder if you would mind signing this?” said the boy, proffering the card to the elderly lady.

He explained just what it was. As he did so, she studied the document through a pair of old-fashioned lorgnettes.

“Yes, most certainly I will sign it,” she cried. “An atrocious child! A most abominable boy! He might have lamed the poor girl for life. Give me your pen!”

Buck did so and the lady signed fiercely and with a flourish.

“I am Miss Angela L. Butterworth of Baltimore,” she cried, handing Buck back his pen. “I have influence in certain quarters and if there is any trouble about Miss Hayward having boxed that odious little wretch’s ears, she may refer the company to me. I saw it all and I have never known a child behave more disgracefully. If necessary, I shall instruct my lawyers to take up the case on Miss Hayward’s behalf.”

“Thank you very much indeed,” said Buck gratefully, thinking that he had certainly struck oil here so far as Miss Hayward was concerned.

“Look at him now!” cried Miss Angela L. Butterworth. “Look at him pulling the most dreadful faces at us. He makes me feel quite nervous. He does, indeed. Do you think the boy is quite sane?”

“Oh, yes, he’s sane enough,” said Buck, staring at Ogden, who, seated a little way in front of them, had screwed himself round in his seat and was pulling the most extraordinary faces at them. “He’s completely spoilt, that’s all——”

“Hey, what’s that writing you’ve got there?” cut in Ogden shrilly.

“It’s about you, you wicked, ill-mannered boy!” cried Miss Butterworth. “Turn round at once and sit properly in your chair and stop pulling those ridiculous faces——”

“I wanna know what that writing is!” yelled Ogden.

“You’re not gonna get to know what the writing is,” roared the goaded Mr. Bowker, jerking him violently round in his seat. “Can’t you keep that nasty, vexatious trap of yours shut just for two minits on end? If you don’t sit quiet and shut up, I’ll land you that crack what I promised you, and I don’t mean maybe!”

He looked so fierce that for the moment even Ogden quailed and sat in sulky, pouting silence until at length he summoned sufficient courage to mutter:

“You dare! You dare hit me an’ you’ll see what my Pop’ll do to you. My Pop won’t stand for you hitting me. You just try it, thassall. Just you dare try it, thassall——”

“Lissen, Poison!” said Mr. Bowker, his voice trembling with suppressed fury. “I’m quitting this job and I’m quitting it mighty quick. I’m gettin’ an old man before my time, lookin’ after you. But before I do quit I’ll give you such a doggone-leatherin’ that you’ll never forget it for as long as you live. So just chew over that, you lard-faced little runt, because, by hokey! I mean it, if I never meant anything in my life before!”

He did mean it. Even Ogden could see that and he relapsed again into sulky, glowering silence, sitting with his hands plunged deep in his jacket pockets. Suddenly, however, a slow, triumphant grin appeared on his puddingy face; a grin which broadened as his fingers closed on a round, hard object in one of his pockets.

Meanwhile, Buck had completed his tour of the saloon and rejoined Beth.

“Everybody’s signed,” he reported triumphantly. “I felt rather like one of those canvassers who go from door to door, but I didn’t mind. It’s all in a good cause and it’ll put Miss Hayward right on velvet if Old Man Pugg does start anything.”

“Here, she’s coming,” said Beth.

The air hostess was coming along the saloon. Buck gave her the signed menu card.

“There’s every signature on it except, of course, Ogden Pugg’s and Mr. Bowker’s,” he told her. “I could hardly ask Ogden to sign it. It would be rather like asking Charles the First to sign his own death-warrant. And I didn’t ask Bowker to sign it for the same reason.”

“Well, thank you very much, indeed,” said Miss Hayward. “It’s very good of you both and I shall certainly produce it if I find myself on the carpet when the aircraft gets back to London——”

Abruptly she broke off as there came a sudden bang and the saloon began to fill with dense and acrid smoke.

“Fire!” screamed the voice of Ogden through the choking murk. “The crate’s on fire!”

Women screamed, men shouted, but above the hubbub and the panic the bull-like voice of Mr. Bowker roared:

“Keep calm, folks, keep calm. ’Taint a fire. It’s just a smoke-bomb—a harmless smoke-bomb from a toy shop let off by this polecat of a kid on purpose to scare you all!”

The stewards leapt to open the air-vents and ventilators and the saloon began to clear quickly of the smoke. Above the coughing and choking of the streaming-eyed passengers the furious voice of Mr. Bowker was heard again.

“This is the finish!” he roared, grabbing Ogden by the scruff of the neck. “You’re more’n human flesh and blood can stand, an’ I’m through! I’m quitting right now—this very minit. But before I do quit I’m gonna give you that hidin’ what I promised you!”

He slumped down in his seat and yanked the frantically struggling Ogden across his massive knees. By this time the smoke had practically cleared from the saloon and, balm to the ears of the outraged passengers and stewards, there now sounded a mighty slapping noise; a tireless, regular, heart-warming sound that was only partially drowned by the yells and howls of the hapless Ogden as Mr. Bowker’s ham-like hand rose and fell heavily and remorselessly on that portion of his anatomy where it would do least harm and most good.

“There!” panted Mr. Bowker at length. “I’ve bin wanting to do that the whole six weeks I’ve been your bodyguard. I was warned about you. I was told that tougher guys than me had packed the job in and had woke up screamin’ at nights for weeks after. But I won’t scream none. Nossir, I’ll sleep peaceful an’ happy. An’ for why? Because I’m through! I’ll hand you over to your Pop at Samoa and then I quit. I’ve quit now, but I’ve gotta go on to Samoa with you whether I like it or not, ’less I jump outa the aircraft!”

With that he deposited the bawling, howling Ogden roughly in that hapless youth’s chair, then hoisted himself to his feet.

“Ladies an’ gents,” he announced, “I’ve gotta apologise for all the commotion an’ fright an’ unpleasantness what this obnoxious li’l critter has caused you all this morning. But it ain’t been my fault. I done my best to keep him quiet, but it’s more’n any one man can do. Howsumever, I’ve quit now an’ what I’m aimin’ to say, ladies and gents, is that I hope none of you will hold it ag’in me for what he’s done.”

“No, no!” murmured his hearers. “It wasn’t your fault. We quite understand!”

In fact, so sympathetic were they towards Mr. Bowker and in such high favour was he with them because of the truly majestic thrashing he had administered to Ogden that, when he sat down, there was some talk of taking up a collection on his behalf.

“I think we ought to,” said Miss Angela L. Butterworth to her immediate neighbour, a Miss Golightly. “After all, the poor man will now be out of employment. And just think what a frightful strain it must have been having to look after that dreadful child. Yes, I for one will certainly contribute to any collection which might be made for him. We must talk about it after lunch.”

The tables had already been laid for lunch and the serving of it commenced. By that time the Falcon was more than fifteen hundred miles out over the Pacific, booming on and on through the boundless blue.

“As Raynor said, there’s nothing at all to see except sea, sea and then more sea,” remarked Buck when, lunch over, he and Beth sat sipping their coffee. “Still, I suppose you’re quite used to it, living on an island with your father like you do.”

“Yes, and I love the sea,” said Beth. “I liked being in New York, of course, but I’m terribly glad to be going back home.”

“But don’t you find it very quiet there?” asked Buck.

“No, of course not,” laughed the girl. “Our island’s a perfect little paradise. It is, really. And what with swimming and sailing—I have my own boat—and helping father, the days simply fly past.”

“I expect you’re a pretty good swimmer?” remarked Buck.

“Not bad,” replied Beth modestly. “I ought to be a good swimmer. I’ve swum almost since I could walk——”

That was as far as she got when, without warning, a voice rang harshly and menacingly through the saloon:

“Hold everything! This is a stick-up! We’ll shoot the first one that moves!”