"Fox-terriers of the sea; friends with every ship that comes along.
Funny codgers, aren't they?" he said.
"When you are stronger we'll go up to the cutwater and watch them from there."
"I have . . . from many ships."
A shadow, which was not cast by the jib, fell upon them both. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling.
What had actually beaten him was not to have known if someone had picked up his trail. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. But that was all over. Nobody could possibly find him now. The doctor would never betray him. He might spend the rest of his days at McClintock's in perfect security.
McClintock, coming from below, saw them and went forward. "Well, how goes it?" he asked.
"Thank you, sir," said Spurlock, holding out his hand.
McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. He rather liked the "sir"; it signified both gratefulness and the chastened spirit.
"And I want to thank you, too," supplemented Ruth.
"Tut, tut! Don't exaggerate. I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. What do you think of the old tub?"