We asked her about those inside.
"Mrs. Cooke has really been very ill," she said, "and Miss Thorn is doing
all she can for her. My father and I were more fortunate. But you will
both catch your deaths," she exclaimed, noticing our condition. "Tell me
where I can find your coats."
I suppose it is natural for a man to enjoy being looked after in this
way; it was certainly a new sensation to Farrar and myself. We assured
her we were drying out and did not need the coats, but nevertheless she
went back into the cabin and found them.
"Miss Thorn says you should both be whipped," she remarked.
When we had put on our coats Miss Trevor sat down and began to talk.
"I once heard of a man," she began complacently, "a man that was buried
alive, and who contrived to dig himself up and then read his own epitaph.
It did not please him, but he was wise and amended his life. I have
often thought how much it might help some people if they could read their
own epitaphs."
Farrar was very quick at this sort of thing; and now that the steering
had become easier was only too glad to join her in worrying the
Celebrity. But he, if he were conscious, gave no sign of it.
"They ought to be buried so that they could not dig themselves up," he
said. "The epitaphs would only strengthen their belief that they had
lived in an unappreciative age."
"One I happen to have in mind, however, lives in an appreciative age.
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