CHAPTER XXIV 

THE ALTERED SAILING LIST 

When dinner was over, Dick sat by himself in a quiet spot on the liner's quarter-deck. There was a tall, iron bulwark beside him, but close by this was replaced by netted rails, through which he caught the pale shimmer of the sea. The warm land-breeze had freshened and ripples splashed against the vessel's side, while every now and then a languid gurgle rose from about her waterline and the foam her plates threw off was filled with phosphorescent flame. A string band was playing on the poop, and passengers and guests moved through the intricate figures of a Spanish dance on the broad deck below. Their poses were graceful and their dress was picturesque, but Dick watched them listlessly. 

He was not in a mood for dancing, for he had been working hard at the dam and his thoughts were disturbed. Clare had refused him, and although he did not accept her decision as final, he could see no way of taking her out of her father's hands, while he had made no progress towards unraveling the latter's plots. Kenwardine was not on board, but Dick had only seen Clare at some distance off across the table in the saloon. Moreover, he thought she must have taken some trouble to avoid meeting him. 

Then he remembered the speeches made by the visitors at dinner, and the steamship officers' replies. The former, colored by French and Spanish politeness and American wit, eulogized the power of the British navy and the courage of her merchant captains. There was war, they said, but British commerce went on without a check; goods shipped beneath the red ensign would be delivered safe in spite of storm and strife; Britannia, with trident poised, guarded the seas. For this the boldly-announced sailing list served as text, but Dick, who made allowances for exuberant Latin sentiment, noted the captain's response with some surprise. 
was it cold out?
he warm land-breeze had freshened and ripples splashed against the vessel's side,