'He is also a friend of ours—of my sister and myself,' said Mrs. Huston calmly.
She had quite recovered her equanimity by now, and the pink colour had left her cheeks.
'I have known him,' said the captain conversationally, 'for many years now. Soon after he made his name he went out to the East with me, and we struck up a friendship. He is not a man who makes many friends, I imagine.'
'No,' murmured Mrs. Huston, in a voice which implied that the subject was not distasteful to her, but she preferred her companion to talk while she listened.
'But,' continued the sailor, 'those who claim him as a friend have an unusual privilege. He is what we vaguely call at sea a "good" man—a man upon whom it is safe to place reliance in any emergency, under all circumstances.'
'Yes,' said the lady softly.
'He has been doing wonderful work out in the East since the beginning of the insurrection. We have a set of men out there such as no nation in the world could produce except England—fellows who go about with their lives literally in their hands, for they're virtually unprotected—men who are soldiers, statesmen, critics, writers and explorers all in one. They run a soldier's risk without the recompense of a soldier's grave. A statesman's craft must be theirs, while they are forced to keep two diplomatic requirements ever before their eyes. England must have news; the army authorities (whose word is law) must be conciliated. Travelling by day and night alike, never resting for many consecutive hours, never laying aside the responsibility that is on their shoulders, they are expected to write amidst the din of battle, on a gun-carriage perhaps, often in the saddle, and usually at night when the wearied army is asleep; they are expected, moreover, to write well, so that men sitting by their firesides in London, with books of reference at hand, may criticise and seek in vain for slip or error. They are expected to criticise the stratagem of the greatest military heads around them without the knowledge possessed by the officers who dictate their coming and their going, throwing them a piece of stale news here and there as they would throw a bone to a dog. All this, and more, is done by our war-correspondents; and amidst these wonderful fellows Theodore Trist stands quite alone, immeasurably superior to them all.'
The vehement sailor was interrupted by the sound of the first dinner-bell, and a general stir on deck. At sea, meal-times are hailed with a more visible joy than is considered decorous on land, and no time is lost in answering the glad summons.
Mrs. Huston rose languidly from her seat and moved forward towards the spacious saloon staircase.
'Yes,' she answered thoughtfully; 'Theo must be very clever. It is difficult to realize that one's friends are celebrated, is it not?'