For some minutes the couple walked along in silence. At last Rattling Bill spoke.
“I wonder,” he said, “why it is that a young and healthy fellow like me should break down sooner than you, Stevenson, for I’m both bigger and stronger—and yet, look at us new. Ain’t it strange! I wonder why it is.”
“It is strange, indeed,” returned the marine quietly. “P’r’aps the climate suits me better than you.”
“I know what you’re thinkin’,” said Simkin, almost testily. “Why don’t you say that drink is the cause of it—straight out, like a man?”
“Because I knew you were saying that to yourself, lad, so there was no need for me to say it,” returned his friend, with a side-glance and a twinkle of the eyes.
“Well, whoever says it, it’s a fact,” continued Simkin, almost sternly, “an’ I make no bones of admitting it. I have bin soakin’ away, right and left, since I came to this country, in spite o’ warnin’s from you and other men like you, and now I feel as if all my boasted strength was goin’ out at my heels.”
Stevenson was silent.
“Why don’t you say ‘I told you so?’” asked Simkin, sharply.
“Because I never say that! It only riles people; besides,” continued the marine, earnestly, “I was asking God at the moment to enable me to answer you wisely. You see, I think it only fair to reveal some of my private thoughts to you, since you are making a father-confessor of me. But as you admit that drink has done you damage, my dear fellow, there is no need for me to say anything more on that subject. What you want now is encouragement as to the future and advice as to the present. Shall I give you both just now, or shall I wait?”
“‘Commence firing!’” replied Simkin, with a half-jesting smile.