storm, clinging to the weather-rail. The ship rolled away down, then away up, until I could see only the dim, scurrying clouds. The rain beat into my face. I felt happy, in a way.
A hand came down on my shoulder. I sprang away, and turned. I dislike exceedingly to have any one lay hands on me.
It was the Port Watch. He had put on a long raincoat, and a cap that was pulled low on his forehead. Under it I could see his eyes shining in a nervous, excited way. He certainly is a wild man, if there ever was one. But then I saw that he was grinning at me, and felt relieved.
“You sure did hand it to the old cock,” he said, shouting against the storm. “It was great. I don't know a dam' thing about music. But I know when a bluff is called. He's gone below.”
“Well,” said I, for there was no need of being uncivil to the man, “I got sick of his voice. And then, he was wrong.”
“Any one could see that,” chuckled the Port Watch.
We walked around together to the lee side of the ship, so that he could light a cigar. And while I did not like his taking my arm, still he seems to be a decent fellow enough, after all. We exchanged cards. He is connected with a Stock Exchange house in New York. He is a big, vigorous man, surely not past his middle thirties. I rather envy him his strength, I am so thin and frail myself. He is one of those who know nothing of what we weaker ones go through who have to husband our energies. A rather primitive person, I should say. He occupies one of the high-priced cabins on the promenade-deck, with a private bath. It must be pleasant to travel that way.
When we parted at the after stairway, I said: “I did n't think I should like you. Shall I tell you why?”
“Yes,” said he.
“Because you drink too much.”
At this he stood still, his hands plunged into the pockets of his raincoat, chewing his under lip. Finally he said, with a break in his voice:
“You're right there. I am drinking too much. But—God, if you knew!”
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