The rough words beat like the blows of the waves on the bows of the rickety boat from Lima in the days when Dick was mixing paints, making love, drawing devils and angels in the half dark, and wondering whether the next minute would put the Italian captain's knife between his shoulder-blades. And the go-fever which is more real than many doctors' diseases, waked and raged, urging him who loved Maisie beyond anything in the world, to go away and taste the old hot, unregenerate life again,—to scuffle, swear, gamble, and love light loves with his fellows; to take ship and know the sea once more, and by her beget pictures; to talk to Binat among the sands of Port Said while Yellow Tina mixed the drinks; to hear the crackle of musketry, and see the smoke roll outward, thin and thicken again till the shining black faces came through, and in that hell every man was strictly responsible for his own head, and his own alone, and struck with an unfettered arm. It was impossible, utterly impossible, but—
“'Oh, our fathers in the churchyard, She is older than ye, And our graves will be the greener,' Said The Men of the Sea.”
“What is there to hinder?” said Torpenhow, in the long hush that followed the song.
“You said a little time since that you wouldn't come for a walk round the world, Torp.”
“That was months ago, and I only objected to your making money for travelling expenses. You've shot your bolt here and it has gone home. Go away and do some work, and see some things.”
“Get some of the fat off you; you're disgracefully out of condition,” said the Nilghai, making a plunge from the chair and grasping a handful of Dick generally over the right ribs. “Soft as putty—pure tallow born of over-feeding. Train it off, Dickie.”
“We're all equally gross, Nilghai. Next time you have to take the field you'll sit down, wink your eyes, gasp, and die in a fit.”
“Never mind. You go away on a ship. Go to Lima again, or to Brazil. There's always trouble in South America.”
“Do you suppose I want to be told where to go? Great Heavens, the only difficulty is to know where I'm to stop. But I shall stay here, as I told you before.”
“Then you'll be buried in Kensal Green and turn into adipocere with the others,” said Torpenhow. “Are you thinking of commissions in hand? Pay forfeit and go. You've money enough to travel as a king if you please.”