"I'll do—whatever you tell me," he said, in a low voice. "No one has ever been so—decent to me before."
"Have one of those rolls!" said Saltash practically. "You'll talk better with something inside you."
He seated himself on the edge of his bunk and lit another cigarette, his attitude one of royal indifference, but his odd eyes flashing to and fro with a monkey-like shrewdness that missed nothing of his desolate companion's forlorn state.
"You've been doing this starvation business for some time, haven't you?" he asked presently. "No wonder you didn't feel like work."
The boy's pinched face smiled, a small wistful smile. "I can work," he said. "I can do anything—women's work as well as men's. I can cook and clean boots and knives and sew on buttons and iron trousers and wash shirts and wait on tables and make beds and sweep and—"
"For heaven's sake, stop!" said Saltash. "You make me giddy. Tell me the things you can't do instead! It would take less time."
Toby considered for a few moments. "I can't drive cars," he said at length. "But I can clean 'em, and I'd love to learn."
Saltash laughed. "That's the sole exception, is it? You seem to have picked up a good deal in a short time. Did they teach you all that over there?"
Toby shook his head. "I've knocked about a good lot," he said.
"And know everything evidently," said Saltash. "What made you think of coming on board this yacht?"