Page:The Garden Party (Mansfield).djvu/193

Rh pale steward in a linen coat, holding a tray high in the palm of his hand, stepped out of a lighted doorway and skimmed past them. They went through that doorway. Carefully over the high brass-bound step on to the rubber mat and then down such a terribly steep flight of stairs that grandma had to put both feet on each step, and Fenella clutched the clammy brass rail and forgot all about the swan-necked umbrella.

At the bottom grandma stopped; Fenella was rather afraid she was going to pray again. But no, it was only to get out the cabin tickets. They were in the saloon. It was glaring bright and stifling; the air smelled of paint and burnt chop-bones and indiarubber. Fenella wished her grandma would go on, but the old woman was not to be hurried. An immense basket of ham sandwiches caught her eye. She went up to them and touched the top one delicately with her finger.

“How much are the sandwiches?” she asked.

“Tuppence!” bawled a rude steward, slamming down a knife and fork.

Grandma could hardly believe it.

“Twopence each?” she asked.

“That’s right,” said the steward, and he winked at his companion.

Grandma made a small, astonished face. Then she whispered primly to Fenella. “What wickedness!” And they sailed out at the 189