Lermontoff noticed
this reluctance to plunge into the abyss of free conversation, and so,
instead of reassuring him he would ask no more questions, he merely
took upon his own shoulders the burden of the talk, and related to the
Captain certain wonders of London and New York.
The steward advanced respectfully to the Captain, and announced
breakfast ready, whereupon the two men followed him into a saloon not
much larger than the stateroom Lermontoff had occupied the night
before, and not nearly so comfortably furnished. A plenteous breakfast
was supplied, consisting principally of fish, steaming potatoes, black
bread, and very strong tea. The Captain swallowed cup after cup of
this scalding beverage, and it seemed to make him more and more genial
as if it had been wine. Indeed, as time went on he forgot that it was
a prisoner who sat before him, for quite innocently he said to the
steward who waited on them:
"Have the poor devils below had anything to eat?"
"No orders, sir," replied the steward.
"Oh, well, give them something-- something hot. It may be their last
meal," then turning, he met the gaze of the Prince, demanded roughly
another cup of tea, and explained:
"Three of the crew took too much vodka in St. Petersburg yesterday."
The Prince nodded carelessly, as if he believed, and offered his open
cigarette case to the Captain, who shook his head.
"I smoke a pipe," he growled.
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