“Where you been?” ast Bessie.
“Down watchin’ ’em dance,” says the Missus.
“Is they a place to dance aboard?” ast Bishop.
But I didn’t want ’em to dance, because that’d be an excuse not to say nothin’ to each other for a w’ile. So I says:
“They’s a place, all right; but five or six couple’s already on the floor, and when you get more’n that trottin’ round at once it’s li’ble to rock the boat and be disastrous.”
I took the Wife’s arm and started to move on.
“Where you goin’?” says Bishop.
“Just for a stroll round the decks,” says I.
“We’ll go along,” he says.
I seen the treatment was beginnin’ to work. “Nothin’ doin’!” I says. “This is one of our semiannual honeymoons and we can’t use no outside help.”
A few minutes before we hit St. Joe we seen ’em again, settin’ down below, afraid to dance and entirely out o’ conversation. They was havin’ just as good a time as Jennie’s babies.
“We’re pretty near in,” I says, “and ’twas one o’ the smoothest crossin’s I ever made.”
“They couldn’t nobody get sick in weather like this,” says Bess.
“No,” I says, “but you take a smooth Saturday afternoon and it generally always means a rough Sunday night.”