In fact, he had rather been relying on
Eustace to be the life and soul of the party. The man sitting on the
bag before him could hardly have filled that role at a gathering of
Russian novelists.
"What on earth's the matter?" said Sam.
"The matter?" Eustace Hignett laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, nothing.
Nothing much. Nothing to signify. Only my heart's broken." He eyed with
considerable malignity the bottle of water in the rack above his head,
a harmless object provided by the White Star Company for clients who
might desire to clean their teeth during the voyage.
"If you would care to hear the story?" he said.
"Go ahead."
"It is quite short."
"That's good."
"Soon after I arrived in America I met a girl...."
"Talking of girls," said Marlowe with enthusiasm. "I've just seen the
only one in the world that really amounts to anything. It was like
this. I was shoving my way through the mob on the dock, when
suddenly...."
"Shall I tell you my story, or will you tell me yours?"
"Oh, sorry! Go ahead.
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