“I was shipwrecked once,” he said. “We lost our vessel and drifted for a long time in a leaky boat. A good many died. I was kept up by the memory of a girl, waiting for me at home. When I got there——”
Mr. Emory paused as if to gather himself. It had grown very still in the saloon.
“She was dead,” he concluded, “so you see my shipwreck and dark night are not over yet.”
Our narrow round had indeed brought us close together. I doubt if Emory had ever spoken of this before to any one. Edith Gale laid her hand on his arm.
“And she is still waiting,” she said, “you must not forget that.”
“Suppose we hear from you, Chase,” said Gale, after a pause.
Matters had taken rather an unexpected turn. I felt that I could not discuss what would best sustain me through the dark night ahead without putting myself and one other person in a trying position. I made an effort to gain time.
“I think we should hear from the Admiral, now,” I said.
“Oh, well,” said Gale, “I’m not bashful if I have got new clothes on. Here’s a few observations that I’ve jotted down from time to time, not especially for a dark night, but for any old night, or day either, when you happen to think about ’em.” Gale straightened back and pulled down his vest comfortably. “Seventeen Observations,” he began, “by Chauncey Gale. Homes and Firesides a Specialty.”
I. “This is a good world if we just think so. The toothache is about the worst thing in it, and we can have the tooth pulled.