“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
“What are the others?” laughed the purser. “Perhaps they ’re easier to get.”
“Well,” replied Micky In his most casual manner, “I want to engage Saloon A 1—and the rooms that go with it for the return voyage. You call it the ‘bridal suite’ don’t you?”
The purser looked at him reprovingly.
“What kind of a joke is that?” he asked. “Are you tight?”
“Have n’t had a drink since we left Naples,” answered Micky. “This is on the level.”
The purser eyed him suspiciously.
“Who for?” he inquired.
“Myself,” said Micky with dignity.
“You make me sick!” snapped the purser. “Confound you! What business have you to try and be funny at my expense.”
“I ’m not kidding,” answered Micky. “I want to engage it—honor bright.”
“Go soak your head!” rapped out the other.
“Are you going to take my order or not?” inquired Micky loftily.
The purser shoved a yellow blank towards him under the grating.
“All right, smarty,” he retorted; “sign an application if you want it.”
300
