“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
him. “I wonder you last a day—can hold your job a minute—with your infernal cheek and indifference! I bet you get the sack once and for all at the end of the voyage." He glanced over the radios. "One for Mrs. Trevelyan, too!” he added ruefully. “Oh, you ’d make an angel weep, you would!”
“Go on, Shylock!” growled Micky, sticking out his tongue at him. “Can you change me tuppence ha’penny? I would n’t have your little ‘dot and carry one’ job if they rated me with the ship’s surgeon!”
And he retreated to the scullery for a cup of coffee while the purser marked the charges and turned over the radios to the reading-room steward for delivery.
Mrs. Trevelyan had returned to her room and was gazing abstractedly out of the open window in a dim cloud of cigarette smoke. The news of Roakby’s murder had quite unnerved her. She had known him well, before her Trevelyan days,—too well for her own good. That he should have been put out of the way was no great loss either to her or to society at large. But that Cosmo Graeme—her friend—whose father’s house she had visited
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