XVIIIA SENSATION VERSUS AN IMPRESSION
WHY did you do it?” asked the Doctor, as they rowed back to the ship.
“He called me.”
“Who? Onset?”
“Yes. There was no real danger, only some risk.”
“The deuce there wasn’t,” rather surprised at Paul’s nonchalance.
“I knew you would pick me up. Onset floated, but was nearly a goner when I reached him.”
“What possessed the fellow?”
“I don’t know. He was scared wild when I first saw him, beating his arms about in every direction. That’s what kept him from sinking, even if his head went under at times. Got any more whiskey?”
Paul had been in the water only about half an hour, no longer than during many a previous dip in the surf, but the nervous tension had been severe.
The Doctor took hold of his hands and found the finger tips were merely cold, not blue, and as usual the form and vitality of the hand showed every element of power to give many a good grip yet.
“Ah!” thought the Doctor, “your type can put forth the strenuous effort if your spirit calls for it, and it does sometimes draw upon the physical too much; the best swimmers are for this cause sometimes drowned. Don’t do it again, my boy. When the reaction comes you require stimulants evenmore than at the time of exertion,” and he again gave Paul the flask.
Mr. Onset was similarly cared for in the other boat. When the two crews came together near the steamer Doctor Wise inquired of the physician in charge what Onset had to say for himself.
“He says he became giddy and fell over. I don’t believe him.”
“H’m,” mused the Doctor, “weak head and hysterical legs—what will he do next?”
Once on board again and the steamer well on her course, the incident produced quite a little sensation, a surface ripple, but very little serious impression.
Paul, in spite of himself, had to gratify curiosity and explain details—how he first caught one of the floating deck stools (“the one I threw over,” said the benign countenance with the woollen hood), then swam towards where he thought Onset might be, and saw his head against the sheen on the water, and then kept his eye on the head while swimming; how it did not seem a long swim, but a little slow after finding a life preserver to tow along; how he managed to get the floats under Onset, after first boxing his ears to keep him quiet, and then ducked into the life preserver himself, “and there we were until the steamer turned head on and the search light became so blinding that I could not see what I could see.”
“Oh, you good boy!” again exclaimed the beaming hooded countenance, who had evidently been reading one of Mr. Frank Stockton’s stories. “Do tell us, is it true, as Miss Frank says, that you wore black stockings to keep off sharks?”
“Trousers, this time, madame—trousers! I really didn’t have time to change.”
“All’s well that ends well,” but with Adele it was not the end, much more the real beginning.
The part she had taken in connection with the case of Onset’s hysteria, her mental activity during the discussion with Mrs. Geyser and the spiritual experience she had just encountered in learning Paul’s decided force of character, made the young woman live and breathe intensely. Her whole being had been brought into play. She developed more during that eventful week of their life in mid-ocean than she might have done in a whole year on land. Not that aught of her past was lost or ignored, but it was made effective and she herself made more completely alive. She was now indeed amid the turmoils of life, where she found herself taking an active part.
The strange and varied motives which actuated many, also the lofty aspirations and the power to act, seemed very similar to her own ideals, far more so than she had expected. This took away some of her own youthful conceit, but gave her a much deeper and stronger appreciation of things as a whole.
Naturally a strong conviction arose within her that two individuals with different characteristics, yet harmonious in purpose, must be able to work better together than alone. She had always felt rather independent as to any methods she chose to adopt, but now she felt herself confronted by a whole series of things she could not do, no matter how good the motive. Paul, for instance, being a man, had done just what she would have liked to do, but could not, being a woman. She felt quite able to have done it—oh, yes; she could dive and swim and keep it up; but somehow, for her to have jumped overboard—well, don’t do it—foolishness—ridiculous. But Paul could—no foolishness, nothing ridiculous; in fact, a praiseworthy act, a reasonable risk, approved by his conscience at the time and eventually strengthening his character. She began to obtain a realizing sense of the complementary equivalent in human nature.
Unavoidably Paul rose higher in her estimation. Twice he had shown himself her equal, perhaps even her superior, not mentally, but somehow in a forcible manner which taxedher spirit as well as her intellect to comprehend. He had once proved how her own vocal accomplishments, so much more highly developed than his, could be in spirit most potent when made subsidiary to the words and sentiment of a song; now he had shown that actions are more convincing than words themselves in spiritual significance. She no longer thought of Paul as like other men, two-sided, one side good and the other—well, not so good; but rather as good all round, a really good man. Being an idealist, she put Paul on a pedestal and took a good look at him. Certainly he was very sensible and brave, also fascinating, now that she saw him in a good light.
This was the state of affairs when the crossing of the Atlantic ended by their entering the Straits of Gibraltar.