"I owe you a lot," said Peter.
"Brickdust," said the Saint tersely.
He spread the lather over his arms and chest and shoulders, and submerged himself again. Then he said:
"Peter, I let you come in with me because you wanted to and you'd lost your job and you had to live somehow. Now you've got forty thousand quid, three thousand a year or more if you invest it skillfully, and you don't need a job. You don't need to run to seed in an office. You're not rich, but you can have all the fun in the world. You can go anywhere, do almost anything you like within reason. If I may talk to you like an uncle — don't be the pitcher that goes once too often to the well."
"You've never stopped," said Peter.
The Saint grinned.
"I never could. While I'm strong and alive, I've got to go on. When I stop crashing about the world and raising hell, I might as well die. Excitement, danger, living on tiptoe all the time — that's what life means to me. But it isn't the same for you."
"What will you do now?"
"I'm blowed if I know. I think I shall travel south, and put my trust in the Lord. Something's sure to happen. Something always does happen, if you go out and challenge it. Adventure never comes. You have to lug it in by the ears. You might settle down in a nice house in England for fifty years, and nothing would ever happen. A few people would die, a few people would get married, they might change over from bridge to canasta or back again, the man next door might run off with his wife's sister and the grocer's assistant might run off with the till — that's all. But you won't find adventure unless you look for it, and that means living dangerously. Sometimes when I hear fools complaining that life is dull, I want to advise them to knock their bank manager on the head and grab a handful of money and run. After a fortnight, if they could keep running that long, they'd know what life meant… I expect I shall do something like that, and the chase will start all over again. But somewhere in the south it will be, Peter. Do you know, when I woke up this morning it was cold enough for me to see my breath going up like steam, and when that happens I feel the old call of long days and sunshine and blue skies."
He stood up, twitched out the plug, and turned the tap of the cold shower. For a few seconds he stood under it, letting it stream down over him and laughing at the stinging brunt of it, rubbing the water over his arms and thighs and chest in a sheer pagan delight of hardiness; and then he climbed out and reached for a towel and cigarette, and his wet hand smote Peter between the shoulder-blades.