“Steward!” a querulous voice at this juncture called in the passage. Dennis raised his eyebrows and went out. “He’s your slave,” the friend said. “Honestly!”

“I like to be comfortable,” said Mrs. Dillington-Blick.

It was Mr. Merryman who had shouted for Dennis. When it comes to separating the easygoing from the exacting passenger, stewards are not easily deceived. But Dennis had been taken in by Mr. Merryman. The spectacles, the rumpled hair, and cherubic countenance had led him to diagnose absence of mind, benevolence, and timidity. He was bitterly disappointed when Mr. Merryman now gave unmistakable signs of being a holy terror. Nothing, it seemed, was right with the cabin. Mr. Merryman had stipulated the port side and found himself on the starboard. His luggage had not been satisfactorily stowed and he wished his bed to be made up in the manner practised on land and not, he said, like an unstuck circular.

Dennis had listened to these complaints with an air of resignation, just not casting up his eyes.

“Quite a chapter of accidents,” he said when Mr. Merryman paused. “Yerse. Well, we’ll see what we can do for you.” He added, “Sir,” but not in the manner required by Mr. Merryman at his minor public school.

Mr. Merryman said, “You will carry out my instructions immediately. I am going to take a short walk. When I return I shall expect to find it done.” Dennis opened his mouth. Mr. Merryman said, “That will do.” Rather pointedly he then locked a case on his dressing table and walked out of the cabin.