"You see?" he said. "At any rate, I am doing—my best."
The other bowed, but not his automatic, courteous little bow with which he punctuated his everyday conversation. There was a moisture in his eyes. He leaned forward and took the hand which moved restlessly across the coverlet.
"If I had had a son," he said, "he could have done no more. Take my thanks, Captain Aylmer, for all that you are and have been; take them in full."
Aylmer gave a little nod of content.
"I'll take them," he smiled, "for what I have been to you, and that is less than nothing. But for what I am going to be—I'll earn them for that, earn them!"
CHAPTER XVI
AT MELILLA
About the aspect of the port of Melilla there is only one thing wholly admirable. That is the curving bay which sweeps eastward from the town towards the frontier blockhouse. This last is an eyesore; the untethered camels which pasture in herds beside it have little attractiveness; the wide plateau which stretches up to the distant hills is desolate and often arid. But the bay is a perpetual delight. Curved like a scimitar, it shines in the sunlight as a tempered blade shines, ringed by white tresses of foam, banked by its parapets of sand.
Two men sat in the shadow cast by a stranded boat and watched half a dozen Moors and Spaniards who bent their shoulders and swelled out their muscles to haul at a couple of ropes. The ropes slanted down to and were lost in the rush of the breakers. Those who dragged at them panted, the perspiration raining off their faces. The men who sat and watched seemed to find a whet to the enjoyment of their siesta in reviewing so much energy. One of them sighed—a contented little sigh, drew a cigarette from the breast of his djelab, lit it, and began to smoke with stolid satisfaction.