Gilbert laughed drily. He was a fine specimen of a sailor, and he would have been called handsome by the women in spite of the scar upon his cheek—an ugly gash which seemed to have a history behind it. A little reserved and proud, he had listened to the talk of money with some contempt; but the captain's challenge drew him out, and he rang the bell impatiently for the barman.
"Champagne, by all means," he said, "since the next that I shall drink will be in Sydney. As to your million, I know nothing about it; but I once owned some large part of one. What's more, I was careless enough to lose it."
A solemn silence fell upon the company. Gilbert Lorimer raised his glass and gave them "To our next." The aged Captain Crabb surrendered at once to a master. I, alone, followed the young sailor from the room and asked him, at the river's bank, to let me have a story.
"Yonder's my ship," he said, indicating the anchor light of a large steamer. "She would be at the Nore before I had well begun."
"Then why not write it——?"
He shook his head.
"I am handier with the gloves," said he.
"Oh, but you can spin a plain yarn, I'll be bound."
"Well, as to that——"
The great steamer sounded her siren and he leaped into the wherry. His last word was a cheery "So long." But he sent me the story of his treasure three months afterwards, and I give it here with scarce a line deleted or a phrase re-turned.