"I haven't a doubt of it, Reginald. As I'm going that way myself, I'll step along with you. But it's a long walk, my boy, every time you want to use a saucepan. You had better buy one for yourself."
Rayton laughed, and the two advanced elbow to elbow.
"I hear," said the captain, "that poor young Marsh is up to his neck in the waters of tribulation. His luck, in the past, has always been of the best. It's a remarkably queer thing, don't you think so?"
"His luck was too good to last, that is all," replied Rayton. "One cannot expect to have everything work out right forever—especially a chap like Marsh, who has a way with him that is not attractive. I think he has an enemy."
"I saw him this morning," said Wigmore, "and what do you think he is worrying about now?"
"Heaven knows!"
"He has given up the idea that young Goodine is persecuting him, and now lays all his troubles to the score of the devil. He broods over those two little marks on that card that was dealt to him during our game of poker. I don't believe he slept a wink last night. Jim's story concerning the past history of those crosses has done its work. The poor fellow is so badly shaken, that when he is out he's afraid the sky may fall upon him, and when he's indoors, he is anxious about the room. He is a coward at heart, you know—and it does not do for a coward to consider himself in love with Nell Harley."
Rayton blushed quickly, and laughed his polite but meaningless laugh.
"I suppose not," he said. "None but the brave, you know."
"Exactly, Reginald. You are not such a fool as you—well, we'll say sound, for you don't look like a fool. No offense is meant, my dear boy. Fact is, I'm your very sincere admirer, and I should like to hear what you think of that marked card, that turned up the other night at your little party."