Part 3

“Could you tell me,” she asked, “the name of that building?” Had her question not proved it, her voice would have told me not only that she was a stranger, but that she was Irish. It was particularly soft, low, and vibrant. It made the commonplace question she asked sound as though she had sung it. I told her the name of the building, and that farther uptown, as she would see when we moved into midstream, there was another still taller. She listened, regarding me brightly, as though interested; but before her I was embarrassed, and, fearing I intruded, I again made a movement to go away. With another question she stopped me. I could see no reason for her doing so, but it was almost as though she had asked the question only to detain me.

“What is that odd boat,” she said, “pumping water into the river?”

I explained that it was a fire-boat testing her hose-lines, and then as we moved into the channel I gained courage, and found myself pointing out the Statue of Liberty, Governors Island, and the Brooklyn Bridge. The fact that it was a stranger who was talking did not seem to disturb her. I cannot tell how she conveyed the idea, but I soon felt that she felt, no matter what unconventional thing she chose to do, people would not be rude, or misunderstand.

I considered telling her my name. At first it seemed that that would be more polite. Then I saw to do so would be forcing myself upon her, that she was interested in me only as a guide to New York Harbor.

When we passed the Brooklyn Navy Yard I talked so much and so eagerly of the battle-ships at anchor there that the lady must have thought I had followed the sea, for she asked: “Are you a sailorman?”

It was the first question that was in any way personal.

“I used to sail a catboat,” I said.

My answer seemed to puzzle her, and she frowned. Then she laughed delightedly, like one having made a discovery.

“You don’t say ‘sailorman,’” she said. “What do you ask, over here, when you want to know if a man is in the navy?”

She spoke as though we were talking a different language.

“We ask if he is in the navy,” I answered.

She laughed again at that, quite as though I had said something clever.

“And you are not?”

“No,” I said, “I am in Joyce & Carboy’s office. I am a stenographer.”

Again my answer seemed both to puzzle and to surprise her. She regarded me doubtfully. I could see that she thought, for some reason, I was misleading her.

“In an office?” she repeated. Then, as though she had caught me, she said: “How do you keep so fit?” She asked the question directly, as a man would have asked it, and as she spoke I was conscious that her eyes were measuring me and my shoulders, as though she were wondering to what weight I could strip.

“It’s only lately I’ve worked in an office,” I said. “Before that I always worked out-of-doors; oystering and clamming and, in the fall, scalloping. And in the summer I played ball on a hotel nine.”

I saw that to the beautiful lady my explanation carried no meaning whatsoever, but before I could explain, the young man with whom she had come on board walked toward us.

Neither did he appear to find in her talking to a stranger anything embarrassing. He halted and smiled. His smile was pleasant, but entirely vague. In the few minutes I was with him, I learned that it was no sign that he was secretly pleased. It was merely his expression. It was as though a photographer had said: “Smile, please,” and he had smiled.

When he joined us, out of deference to the young lady I raised my hat, but the youth did not seem to think that outward show of respect was necessary, and kept his hands in his pockets. Neither did he cease smoking. His first remark to the lovely lady somewhat startled me.

“Have you got a brass bed in your room?” he asked. The beautiful lady said she had.

“So’ve I,” said the young man. “They do you rather well, don’t they? And it’s only three dollars. How much is that?”

“Four times three would be twelve,” said the lady. “Twelve shillings.”

The young man was smoking a cigarette in a long amber cigarette-holder. I never had seen one so long. He examined the end of his cigarette-holder, and, apparently surprised and relieved at finding a cigarette there, again smiled contentedly.

The lovely lady pointed at the marble shaft rising above Madison Square.

“That is the tallest sky-scraper,” she said, “in New York.” I had just informed her of that fact. The young man smiled as though he were being introduced to the building, but exhibited no interest.

“IS it?” he remarked. His tone seemed to show that had she said, “That is a rabbit,” he would have been equally gratified.

“Some day,” he stated, with the same startling abruptness with which he had made his first remark, “our war-ships will lift the roofs off those sky-scrapers.”