“Sure I’ll go with you,” Walter nodded seriously, but there was no giving in in tone or manner. It suited him to go with Richard. He told everyone that it did. Richard and he were pals, he told them. They had things, they had, to talk over and come to terms on. Secrets, ha! Secrets that would make ’em all sit up and listen.
Richard agreed and led him away. As they went down the stairs, Walter leading eagerly, Richard cast one look back. Pity for the old grey woman, looking greyer now than ever, struck him hard. He pressed his lips together and wished he could requite in some measure the evil done her late years by this hopeless boy.
The hopeless boy turned suddenly in the hall.
“Richard Richard!” he cried and laughed. “That’s a good ’un. Richard—hell! I know you.”
“Of course you do. Of course you do,” Richard agreed. “But don’t bark it out to the whole ship. Come along to my room and talk it over.”
“All right,” Walter assented. He said “Aw ri’.” One would think by his speech that he was still “not himself,” as the Welsh have it. No doubt the passengers agreed upon that theory. But Walter’s speech, drunk or sober, had become blurred and difficult.
“All right,” he said. “I’m no squealer. I only want my rights. That’s all.... Knew yuh wasn’t no Mr. Richard. Knew from the first.”
“H’m,” Richard mused aloud as they walked with difficulty along the swaying corridors. “How did you get on to it, old fellow?”
“Saw your name on the door. Card.”
“The deuce you did!”