"It 'as its good p'ints," observed Bill Benson. "You can lap it down till y'r back teeth are awash without acquirin' a cordite mouth, but it falls considerable flat on the palate after a week o' nothin' else. There ain't no bite to it. It's good enough for babbies, but I'm gettin' that sick of it I'd as soon suck bilgewater."
CHAPTER VII
"LOYOLA"
Meanwhile Jack wandered off along the shore with bent head and stumbling feet, not knowing nor caring where he went, for his brain was seething in a ferment.
The news which Bill Benson had given him racked the distracted man almost beyond the limit of endurance. His heart leaped at one moment to a fierce, delirious joy, to be cast down the next into the very depths of despair.
Then a rage seized him, a wild, ungovernable fury, which shook his weak, overstrained body to the very core, till he was forced to sink upon the sand from sheer physical inability to remain erect. Hot, passionate words rushed in a low, hoarse whisper from his cracked lips; the blind eyes sparkled with a gleam of almost madness, and the emaciated hands clenched and unclenched ceaselessly.
Slowly the paroxysm passed; a look of dreadful sadness came into the eyes, and a long, dry sob broke huskily from his lips.
"What shall I do? Oh, God! what shall I do?" he wailed miserably.
"Kill the devil!" whispered a voice within him.