good care of it.â
âYou better,â the steward said. âNow let me look at you. Yeah. Youâll do. Come on, follow me.â
It was a calm pleasant evening and as the steward led him along the deserted upper deck Dan caught the plaintive strains of an orchestra. Then as the steward led him indoors the music became louder and close at hand. Double swing doors now and an elegant restaurant, many of the tables occupied.
Barbara, in a long silk gown, was nursing a glass of champagne . She saw Dan at once, excused herself from the people she was with and came over to greet him.
âGo get âem, son,â the steward said, under his breath. âLooks like you got it made.â
Dan had never seen anything like this, except in a silent movie or in a poster for one of those shows in Dublin. Men in dinner jackets and black ties, expensively clad ladies with diamonds that sparkled at their mostly wrinkled necks, and in the background on a curved stage a ten piece orchestra, in white trousers and blue striped jackets, was playing Moonlight and Roses .
Barbara looked him over, at his dark eyes and wayward black hair, and seemed to approve of what she saw. A waiter led them to their table and Dan saw that several of the ladies looked at him quizzically as he passed. They were all without exception, as Michael would say, âwell past itâ. Nowhere was there any competition for his amused hostess.
âWhatâs funny?â he asked as they sat down.
âYou are,â Barbara said and she leaned forward and laughed. âYou have awakened the dead and the dead donât approve.â
Dan bristled. âI donât need their approval,â he said, his chin raised as he looked around.
âDonât get upset,â she said. âItâs me they donât approve of, not you.â She leaned closer. âWhy arenât you ignorant and stupid? Youâre from Ireland, for Godâs sake.â
âI am ignorant,â he said. âBut Iâm not stupid. If I was stupid I wouldnât know I was ignorant. Being stupid is tough. But being ignorant is OK. That can be put right. Iâm a fast learner.â
A slightly stooping man in his late sixties had arrived to catch this last bit. âFast learner, eh? Iâm glad to hear it, son. Youâll have to be if youâre gonna work for me.â
Dan jumped to his feet at once.Â
âJoe Baker,â the older man said. âAnâ you must be?â
âDolan, sir. Dan Dolan.â
âWell sit down, Dan. I need a drink.â
Mr Baker barely raised a finger and at once a waiter arrived. He ordered water and looked across at Barbara but she shook her head. She still had the champagne. âWhatâll it be, Dan?â
âIâll have what youâre having, sir.â
âAn indigestion tablet?â
Dan laughed and Mr Baker ordered two beers. The menu was in French but, fortunately for Dan, an English translation in pale type was under each line. He read what was on offer and felt maybe an indigestion tablet was not a bad idea. In steerage there was a refectory with bare wooden tables where you could buy a plate of fish and chips, or cabbage and ribs, or sometimes a bowl of doubtful-looking stew that most of the passengers gave a miss.
He wanted to ask Mr Baker about America and the prospect of advancement. But he soon found it was his host who was asking the questions. He told him about the village where he came from, about the estate of the absentee English landlord he had worked for and, embellishing the facts only slightly, he explained that he had been responsible for the staff and the day-to -day running of the place. Why had he left? Limited prospects, he answered. At home, he said, America is seen as the land of opportunity.
âAnd so it is, son,â Mr Baker said, âso it is. But only for those prepared to work.â
âIâve always worked, sir.