"But I thought you wanted to stay here," said Greg astonished.
"As long as the cab's here it's all right," he said with perfect inconsistency. "I didn't want to be penned up."
There was no making any sense out of this. Useless to argue with a man in his condition. "You go ahead," said Greg good-naturedly. "I'll stay with the cab."
"No, you come too," the other said with childish insistence. "I've got to have somebody to talk to. Mustn't be left alone."
Greg shrugged, and gave in.
The Twenty-third Street ferry to Jersey City is one of the longer routes, and the passage consumes upwards of twenty minutes. There were not many passengers at this hour—in the center of the deck a group of half a dozen drivers comparing notes, and at either side as many late commuters and Jersey citizens homeward bound. The overhanging bow of the ferry-boat trod the dark water remorselessly underfoot. On either hand it heaved in a silent tumult, like an agonized black breast. Along the shores the lights, yellow, red and green, sparkled with an incredible brightness, and over the center of Manhattan hung a dim radiance like the reflection of the embers of a burnt-out conflagration.
At Greg's elbow the tall man chattered on in the inconsequential way that accorded so ill with his aristocratic mask and falcon-like glance. "I hope the old boy's resting easily in the cab back there. He must be cramped lying on the floor." (So he had seen inside!) "Well, there's no accounting for taste in beds. You can't blame a man for taking a drop too much in weather like this. The dampness gnaws your bones. In my country the sun never forsakes us like this."
"What country is that?" asked Greg idly.
"Er—Peru," came the answer after a second's hesitation. He went on with his snigger: "I guess maybe I've had a drop or two too many myself. Two too many! English is a funny language! I had my first cocktail at five this afternoon—no, yesterday afternoon, and after dinner I seemed to lose count. Oh well, what's the difference! We only live once. I'll buy you a drink, cabby, when we land on the other side."
In the middle of all this he pulled himself up short and a great breath escaped him—was it of relief? For a moment his foolishness seemed to fall away. "Well, that's all right," he murmured.