They had the deck pretty much to themselves. It was only four
o'clock, too early for the appetite-stimulating walk before
dinner, and their fellow passengers were basking in the sunshine,
stretched out on their chairs in two even rows like so many
mummies on exhibition. Some were reading, some were dozing. Two or
three were under the weather, completely prostrated, their bilious
complexion of a deathly greenish hue. At each new roll of the
ship, they closed their eyes as if resigned to the worst that
might happen and their immediate neighbours furtively eyed each of
their movements as if apprehensive of what any moment might bring
forth. A few couples were flirting to their heart's content under
the friendly cover of the lifeboats which, as on most of the
transatlantic liners, were more useful in saving reputations than
in saving life. The deck steward was passing round tea and
biscuits, much to the disgust of the ill ones, but to the keen
satisfaction of the stronger stomached passengers who on shipboard
never seem to be able to get enough to eat and drink. On the
bridge, the second officer, a tall, handsome man with the points
of his moustache trained upwards à la Kaiser Wilhelm, was striding
back and forth, every now and then sweeping the horizon with his
glass and relieving the monotony of his duties by ogling the
better looking women passengers.

"Hello, Shirley!" called out a voice from a heap of rugs as
Shirley and Jefferson passed the rows of chairs.

They stopped short and discovered Mrs. Blake ensconced in a cozy
corner, sheltered from the wind.