Collision Course by Gordon Korman Page B

well-chosen words. If the earl allowed himself to be drawn into one of the man’s interminable stories, he’d never make it back to the lounge.
    He turned into the shadow of a tall ventilationoutlet and pretended to be lighting a cigarette. The ruse failed.
    “Ahoy, Glamford,” the major called jovially. “A pleasant good evening to you.”
    “Mountjoy,” the earl barely acknowledged.
    “I must congratulate you, sir. You and the countess have raised a remarkable young lady. Her ability to interact with all classes of society does her — and you — great credit.”
    The earl’s eyes grew watchful. “My daughter? Juliana?”
    “At this very moment, she is in the aft well deck at a dance party.”
    “Mountjoy, what are you saying?” the earl exclaimed. “Nobody goes to the aft well deck! It’s in steerage!”
    “Exactly.” The major smiled. “
All
classes of society, including that one. Good night, your lordship. Sleep well.”
    No one had ever seen Rodney, Earl of Glamford move so fast. He rushed down the companion stairs to the second-class promenade. The spectators were lined up three deep at the rail, and he had to peer over heads to see the well deck below.
    The revelry and abandon was most distasteful. But what did one expect of the steerage?
    And then his eyes, panning the raucous scene, found his daughter.
    She was dancing. No, that term was far too civilized to describe it. She was a frenzy of movement, her head thrown back, her hair coming down loose and flying. The expression on her face was pure enjoyment — one might even call it bliss.
    For a young woman of her birth and station, it was completely unacceptable.
    The American was with her — Sophie — equally misbehaving, although that mother of hers would probably find this socially progressive. Both Juliana and Sophie were hanging off the arms of a boy in dirty work attire. And at close quarters all around them — touching, even — were these
persons
! Emigrants! Foreigners! And who knew what else!
    Words failed him. How could the White Star Line permit such a thing? Aboard the premier ocean liner on the face of the earth, a gentleman should not have to worry about protecting his daughter’s reputation!
    He stormed back up to the boat deck and collared the first White Star uniform he encountered.
    “What kind of ship are you running here? Steerage is in full chaos and riot, and young girls are being lured to take part in immoral dancing and revelry!”
    The poor assistant pantryman had only come forsome air before going to bed. The last thing he’d expected was to be set upon by an irate nobleman. He stood there, speechless, his ears blistered, as the earl raged on.
    “May I be of some assistance, your lordship?” came a quiet voice at his elbow.
    The earl wheeled and found himself face-to-face with Second Officer Charles Herbert Lightoller.
    “Yes, you may! There is a scene of anarchy and debauchery taking place in the aft well deck!”
    Lightoller smiled deferentially. “The steerage passengers have few comforts, and very little to entertain them. We try not to begrudge them their little parties, however vulgar they may appear to us.”
    “Little parties?” the earl exploded. “I’ll have you know that my young daughter has been practically kidnapped and forced to take part!”
    The second officer’s face grew grim. “Understood. I shall return her to your stateroom at once.”
    He descended to the second-class overlook and peered down at the whirling dancers. He found Sophie and Juliana almost immediately. Their colorful evening wear made them two lilies in a hayfield.
    Pity, he thought briefly, to interrupt their youthful fun. But if the earl said it was inappropriate, why, so it was.
    His eyes fell on the two girls’ dance partner — the slight figure in coveralls whose swift movements made his features just a blur.
    The song ended; the dancers stopped. And the boy’s face finally came into focus.
    Lightoller bristled.