"But I am sailing in the morning," murmured Percival. "Must patch me up by that time."
"We shall see. You don't seem to realize that you stood an excellent chance of remaining permanently in Shanghai."
"You mean?"
"I mean that you owe your life to that plucky little wife of yours."
Percival's heart leaped at the word. "She's not my wife, Doctor," he said, smiling feebly, "not yet."
XIV
NEPTUNE TAKES A HAND
The evolution of a hero is seldom a gradual process; he usually springs into public favor suddenly and dramatically. Not so with the Honorable Percival. He had to scramble ignominiously on all fours through a canvas tunnel, he had to brave the smiles of the on-lookers while he learned new steps on the ball-room floor, he had to participate in a street fight and have an artery severed before he was accorded the honor of a pedestal.
Bobby's graphic account of his defense of the drunken sailor, together with his own vigorous disavowal of any heroism in the affair, won for him a halo. After months of tedious anchorage in the dull harbor of seclusion, he found himself once more afloat on a sea of approval, tasting again the sweet savor of adulation, and spreading his sails to catch each passing breath of admiration.