“I suppose I’ve been hitting too hot a pace,” said Evans with an enigmatic look on his face.
“Oh, quit your kidding, and come ashore,” said Lindsay.
Evans hesitated a minute.
“The fact is, I’m kind of tired and don’t seem to feel like hunting all the hilarity there is,” he said, “but there’s a little restaurant that you may not know of where you can get a good supper and hear some rather good music; it’s a quiet place and most of the men don’t seem to know it. If you’d like to go and have supper there on me and have a good heart-to-heart talk, that would suit me as well as staying on board.”
“All right, I’ll go and try your quiet restaurant with you, for a starter, anyway.”
So off they went and took their places in the motor-sailer at the gangway. Once ashore, Evans led the way through the crooked streets to a picturesque little building where a modest restaurant served a few familiar patrons. A small orchestra consisting of a piano, a double-bass ’cello, and one or two other instruments, ensconced in a nook by some potted palms, beguiled the supper hour for such as sought the little hostelry. Evans and Lindsay, alone save for two natives of the town, chose a table from which they could look out over the harbor, and just near enough the orchestra to get the full benefit of the music. Lindsay at first felt a little dismayed at the lack of gayety which seemed destined to characterize the celebration of his night on shore, but soon the appetizing food and the melodious strains of a Portuguese air put him in a mood for the enjoyment of a quiet evening chatting freely with his friend. Evans was more than ten years his senior, but of that Lindsay had no suspicion. Their talk drifted easily from the personnel of the flagship through a wide range of human affairs. The orchestra, after a brief rest, struck up a Strauss waltz, once familiar to all, now known only to those of Evans’s age and older. Evans stopped talking and listened, a far-away look coming into his eyes, and his hand unconsciously beating time on the table.
“Lord! how that takes me back to old times!” he said.
Their talk drifted back to the States, and into speculation as to what people were thinking and doing at home. The orchestra paused again, and then began to play a song once popular in all modern cities, now long since out of fashion, a song whose melodious sweetness had made it a favorite in its day and commended it now to the little Portuguese orchestra, guided more by melody than by vogue. As Lindsay recognized the tune, vivid memories of his childhood rose before him; and as the rich, deep tones of the double-bass ’cello vibrated with the appealing spirit of the melody, the long-forgotten past swept over him like a flood; his eyes became moist, and he sat in silence till the music had ceased for some time. Then he spoke, and told Evans of the early memories awakened by the song. He felt that he could speak to Evans of things he couldn’t mention to his other shipmates, for Evans understood. And so it was that the youth poured out his heart to the older man, giving vent to feelings long deeply repressed within him. He told of his concern about his mother, his zeal to bring her no shame, his hopes and ambitions, his temptations and struggles. And in all this he found what without knowing it he had craved since leaving home—the confidence of a friend on whom he could lean as on an older brother.
Evans in his turn found in this intimacy with the younger man something that satisfied a long-felt want; and he thanked his stars for it. With a deepening bond of sympathy they talked till the players had packed up their instruments and gone. All thoughts of seeking the usual pleasures of the town had now evaporated, and it was only when the time came to catch the last boat returning to the flagship that they left the little restaurant and walked down to the landing.
Next day Lindsay’s monthly pay, which had been lying restless in his pocket the night before, was dispatched intact to his mother in the Middle West.