Our game was abandoned. Leyden and I strolled aft to our favorite place by the hand steering-gear, where Leyden puffed at his porcelain pipe in silence for so long a time that I began to think that he would hold to the resolution made early in the evening and not tell the story which hung on the edge of his mind.
“Ach!” he exclaimed suddenly, and taking the pipe from his mouth, tapped the horn mouth-piece against the awning stanchion. “Ach! One would almost think that God might spare a man two such spectacles as that which we have just witnessed. I am accustomed to seeing men killed, Doctor; also to seeing men suffer within reasonable limits, but I protest against casually witnessing torture....
“It was not so long ago, Doctor,” he resumed presently, “I was going out to Java via Singapore, and the first night out, while chatting with the chief engineer, who was an old friend of mine, his second came to the door to report on something concerning the engines. I did not notice what he said, for the moment he stepped into the blaze of the incandescent lights I set my memory at work to place him.
“This second engineer was, I think, Doctor, the most strikingly beautiful man I have ever seen. Really, the poor fellow was so handsome that he was almost disagreeably conspicuous, because one felt that no matter how great the effort, his deeper personality would never be able to hold the pace set by his physical appearance. I will not try to describe him; figure to yourself a powerful frame of athletic perfection, the face of a very masculine archangel, broad forehead, blazing sapphire eyes, with rather dark lashes, although his hair was yellow, a wide mouth of singularly winning expression and a jaw which was aristocratically masterful. He said but half a dozen words, and then at a nod from the chief, went out, but brief as was my glimpse of him I was no less impressed by his striking beauty than by the fact that I had known some of his breed.
“‘Who is that fellow?’ I asked of old Burton, the chief.
“‘Dalton, my second,’ said he; ‘a good looking lad, is he not?’
“‘Extremely,’ I answered; ‘is he as good as he looks?’
“‘Aye, and the more credit to him for that, to my mind,’ said Burton, and went on, ‘D’ye know, Doctor Leyden, the Almighty puts an awful strain on the moral construction of a man when he models him on the lines of yon lad! And the boy knows it and is not too proud to shun the danger. You’ll scarce lay eyes on him between here and Singapore.’
“‘Is he shy of his good looks?’ I asked.
“‘Less that than proper-minded. If ever a man was built to carry an overload of women’s fancies, ’tis this same Dalton. They can see nothing else when the poor lad’s about, not that he seems to notice it.’