“Up to—where?” asked Harman, feebly.
“Where? Why, back in the native town. You left that chap there, and the purser of the mail boat had to beat the place for him and get four roustabouts ashore to frog-march him to the ship.”
“I dunno,” said Harman, “I got along with him in a bar, and we sat havin’ drinks, them drinks they serve at the Continental—Lord, Bud, I never want to see another cherry again, nor sniff another drop of Bourbon. I’m on the water-wagon for good and all. It ain’t worth it; I’m feelin’ worse than a Methodis’ parson. I’m no boozer, but if I do strike the jagg by accident, my proper feelin’s pay me out. It’s not a headache, it’s the feelin’ as if a chapel minister was sittin’ on my chest, and I’d never get him off. Give’s my pants.”
He rose, dressed, and went out. Down on the beach the sea breeze refreshed Mr. Harman, and life began to take a rosier colour. He sat on the sand, and taking the chamois leather bag from his pocket, counted the coins in it.
The fun of the day before had cost him ten pounds!
Ten pounds—fifty dollars—for what? Three or four drinks, it did not seem more, and a tongue like an old brown shoe. He moralised on these matters for a while, and then returning the coins to the bag and the bag to his pocket, he rose up and strolled back through the town, buying a drinking nut from the old woman at the corner of the Place Canrobert and refreshing himself with its contents.
Then he wandered in the groves near the native village, and two hours later, Davis, seated under the trees of the Place Canrobert and reading a San Francisco paper, which the purser of the mail boat had left behind in the bar of the Continental, saw Harman approaching.
Harman had evidently got the chapel minister off his chest, his chin was up, and his eyes bright. He sat down beside the other, laughed, slapped himself on the right knee and expectorated.
“What’s up?” said Davis.
“Nothin’,” said Harman. “Nothin’ I can tell you about at the minute. Say, Bud, ain’t you feelin’ it’s time we took the hook up and pushed? Ain’t nothin’ more to be done here, seems to me, and I’ve got a plan.”