Andrews glance his way, John quickly averted his eyes. He didn't want to think they might be as condescending about him or his toy trains as was Craven. However, he must remember that Craven had brought his designs to Cyril Beaumont. To think it had all started many years ago with a little train John's father had carved from a slab of wood, useless except for burning.
The room of people began to stir. After having visited with others, they began leaving the reception room. Stanton-Jones walked up to Captain Smith's group, spoke briefly, then he and his mother headed John's way. Lady Stanton-Jones spoke to Caroline and William, who had joined them. A stewardess brought S. J.'s children.
The Chadwicks and Lavinia, the name Lady Stanton-Jones insisted upon being called, had met on other occasions. John appreciated the informality but knew he'd never say "Lavinia" without prefacing her name with "Lady."
"Henry told me the exciting news," Lady Lavinia said after introductions were made. "Let me see that ring more closely."
Lydia offered her hand.
"I can hardly wait to hear all about it," Lady Lavinia said. "Nothing I like better than a good romance story."
"I want to hear it too," Phoebe said.
Henry laughed. "John and I have already commented on the novel plot possibilities."
"What isn't a novel idea to you?" Lady Lavinia said, with a fondness in her tone. As they entered the saloon, she said in invitation, "This is our table."
John had noticed that most of the passengers seemed to congregate at the same table and with the same set of friends at dinner, although not at lunch. As he and Lydia had done one day, many lunched in the sidewalk café.
"If you'll pardon me," William said, "I promised to lunch with Craven." Caroline smiled. He excused himself and headed for a table in a far corner where Craven and two other men were seated.
Stewards pulled out chairs for the ladies. Master Henry, looking bored, played with the silverware. He used a spoon to tap every object within reach. He was discreet about it. Phoebe glanced at him and then away as if that were an ordinary occurrence.
That reminded John of the writing of another Henry. Thoreau, to be exact. If a man does not keep pace with his com panions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.
He couldn't help being intrigued with the young boy's intensity in seeming to concentrate on the varying tones as he lightly tapped the objects with the spoon.
As if thinking about different drummers, Lady Lavinia began a discussion about her son's novels, particularly Once Upon an English Country Garden, and Lydia and Caroline joined in.
S. J. turned the conversation to John's poetry. John admitted he was not widely acclaimed outside his university and possibly London. "My recognition has come through my toy trains."
"The Ancell trains. Of course." S. J. showed interest. "I've looked at those. Undoubtedly, jolly ol' Saint Nick will make a delivery of one under our Christmas tree this year."
A clatter sounded as a spoon dropped onto little Henry's bread plate. His face became animated. "Is it Christmas?"
They all laughed while his father leaned over to speak past Phoebe. "Not yet, Son. First is your birthday." He looked around at the others. "Henry will be three the day we arrive in New York." He spoke loudly enough for his son to hear. "And there will be a present."
"A train?"
"No. Santa considers bringing trains for good boys at Christmastime."
Gentle laughter sounded, but Lady Lavinia said, "Henry is always a good boy."
Henry tightened his lips and continued playing with the silverware while Phoebe gazed from one person to another as they talked, as if every word were interesting.
John marveled at how different the conversation seemed. Lydia's engagement was the exciting news, of course. But to his surprise, those at the table discussed his toys as though they were as noteworthy as Cyril
The room of people began to stir. After having visited with others, they began leaving the reception room. Stanton-Jones walked up to Captain Smith's group, spoke briefly, then he and his mother headed John's way. Lady Stanton-Jones spoke to Caroline and William, who had joined them. A stewardess brought S. J.'s children.
The Chadwicks and Lavinia, the name Lady Stanton-Jones insisted upon being called, had met on other occasions. John appreciated the informality but knew he'd never say "Lavinia" without prefacing her name with "Lady."
"Henry told me the exciting news," Lady Lavinia said after introductions were made. "Let me see that ring more closely."
Lydia offered her hand.
"I can hardly wait to hear all about it," Lady Lavinia said. "Nothing I like better than a good romance story."
"I want to hear it too," Phoebe said.
Henry laughed. "John and I have already commented on the novel plot possibilities."
"What isn't a novel idea to you?" Lady Lavinia said, with a fondness in her tone. As they entered the saloon, she said in invitation, "This is our table."
John had noticed that most of the passengers seemed to congregate at the same table and with the same set of friends at dinner, although not at lunch. As he and Lydia had done one day, many lunched in the sidewalk café.
"If you'll pardon me," William said, "I promised to lunch with Craven." Caroline smiled. He excused himself and headed for a table in a far corner where Craven and two other men were seated.
Stewards pulled out chairs for the ladies. Master Henry, looking bored, played with the silverware. He used a spoon to tap every object within reach. He was discreet about it. Phoebe glanced at him and then away as if that were an ordinary occurrence.
That reminded John of the writing of another Henry. Thoreau, to be exact. If a man does not keep pace with his com panions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.
He couldn't help being intrigued with the young boy's intensity in seeming to concentrate on the varying tones as he lightly tapped the objects with the spoon.
As if thinking about different drummers, Lady Lavinia began a discussion about her son's novels, particularly Once Upon an English Country Garden, and Lydia and Caroline joined in.
S. J. turned the conversation to John's poetry. John admitted he was not widely acclaimed outside his university and possibly London. "My recognition has come through my toy trains."
"The Ancell trains. Of course." S. J. showed interest. "I've looked at those. Undoubtedly, jolly ol' Saint Nick will make a delivery of one under our Christmas tree this year."
A clatter sounded as a spoon dropped onto little Henry's bread plate. His face became animated. "Is it Christmas?"
They all laughed while his father leaned over to speak past Phoebe. "Not yet, Son. First is your birthday." He looked around at the others. "Henry will be three the day we arrive in New York." He spoke loudly enough for his son to hear. "And there will be a present."
"A train?"
"No. Santa considers bringing trains for good boys at Christmastime."
Gentle laughter sounded, but Lady Lavinia said, "Henry is always a good boy."
Henry tightened his lips and continued playing with the silverware while Phoebe gazed from one person to another as they talked, as if every word were interesting.
John marveled at how different the conversation seemed. Lydia's engagement was the exciting news, of course. But to his surprise, those at the table discussed his toys as though they were as noteworthy as Cyril
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