“C. Q.” or, In the Wireless House
look of one who has played and lost, the hopeless expression of the man who has nothing left.
“Decided to come down, after all?” remarked Micky, with good humor.
“Yes,” returned the other in a slightly nervous manner. And the conversation lagged.
The stewards began clearing away, and the second-cabin passengers gathered in groups or sauntered out on deck. The wan girl and her brother, however, seemed to have made no friends, and lingered on. The girl was by no means bad looking, as Micky took pains to observe. Neither was the brother, although he had the pasty look of one who has lived his life inside closed doors, and the stoop that is apt to go with it—a clerk, Micky guessed, taking a sea voyage for his health.
Micky’s attention had been attracted to the pair early in the voyage for several reasons. In the first place, they, like Cloud, had come aboard at Gibraltar—a rather curious place to take a steamer for America in the month of September. Spain was pretty hot—infernally hot after the middle of June. Then, while the girl seemed like a chatty sort of person and was always ready to talk to her companions at the30
