Cadogan did not respond; but from Lavis, the man on the transom, came: "And now you are suggesting the really great adventuring!"
Meade turned in surprise. "What is that?"
"Isn't it in the spirit we have the really great adventures?"
Meade studied him curiously. "You mean that the most thrilling adventures are those we only dream about, but which never happen?"
"I didn't mean exactly that, for they do happen. What I meant was that to try your body was nothing, but to try your soul—try it to the utmost—there would be something."
"To risk it or try it?" asked Meade.
"Oh, to try it only. To risk it, would not that be sinful?"
Cadogan's instinctive liking for Lavis had led him from the beginning of the voyage to take a keen interest in whatever he might do or say; but until to-night he had found him a most unobtrusive and taciturn man. He had a feeling that this man, who before to-night had barely said more than good morning and good night to him, understood him much better than did Meade, the professional observer, who was forever questioning him. The answer to Meade's last question stirred him particularly, because he felt that it was meant, not for Meade, but for himself.
Thinking of Meade, who was a famous author and journalist, Cadogan said hesitatingly and shyly: "I've often thought I'd like to be a writer." He meant that for Lavis, but it was Meade who took it to himself to ask him why.
"If I were a writer, I'd have hope right now of taking part in one of the greatest adventures that could befall a man."