At breakfast time, eating nothing myself, I presided with such frigid dignity that the two mates were only too glad to escape from the cabin as soon as decency permitted; and all the time the dual working of my mind distracted me almost to the point of insanity.
I was constantly watching myself, my secret self, as dependent on my actions as my own personality, sleeping in that bed, behind that door which faced me as I sat at the head of the table.
It was very much like being mad, only it was worse because one was aware of it.
I had to shake him for a solid minute, but when at last he opened his eyes it was in the full possession of his senses, with an inquiring look.
"All's well so far," I whispered."Now you must vanish into the bathroom."He did so, as noiseless as a ghost, and then I rang for the steward, and facing him boldly, directed him to tidy up my stateroom while I was having my bath--"and be quick about it." As my tone admitted of no excuses, he said, "Yes, sir," and ran off to fetch his dustpan and brushes.
I took a bath and did most of my dressing, splashing, and whistling softly for the steward's edification, while the secret sharer of my life stood drawn up bolt upright in that little space, his face looking very sunken in daylight, his eyelids lowered under the stern, dark line of his eyebrows drawn together by a slight frown.
When I left him there to go back to my room the steward was finishing dusting.I sent for the mate and engaged him in some insignificant conversation.It was, as it were, trifling with the terrific character of his whiskers; but my object was to give him an opportunity for a good look at my cabin.
And then I could at last shut, with a clear conscience, the door of my stateroom and get my double back into the recessed part.
There was nothing else for it.He had to sit still on a small folding stool, half smothered by the heavy coats hanging there.
We listened to the steward going into the bathroom out of the saloon, filling the water bottles there, scrubbing the bath, setting things to rights, whisk, bang, clatter--out again into the saloon--turn the key--click.Such was my scheme for keeping my second self invisible.Nothing better could be contrived under the circumstances.And there we sat;I at my writing desk ready to appear busy with some papers, he behind me out of sight of the door.It would not have been prudent to talk in daytime; and I could not have stood the excitement of that queer sense of whispering to myself.
Now and then, glancing over my shoulder, I saw him far back there, sitting rigidly on the low stool, his bare feet close together, his arms folded, his head hanging on his breast--and perfectly still.
Anybody would have taken him for me.
I was fascinated by it myself.Every moment I had to glance over my shoulder.I was looking at him when a voice outside the door said:
"Beg pardon, sir."
"Well!...I kept my eyes on him, and so when the voice outside the door announced, "There's a ship's boat coming our way, sir,"I saw him give a start--the first movement he had made for hours.
But he did not raise his bowed head.
"All right.Get the ladder over."
I hesitated.Should I whisper something to him? But what?
His immobility seemed to have been never disturbed.
What could I tell him he did not know already?...Finally I went on deck.
