he old boat ran on wheels."

"Queer!" said Dan. To himself he said: "He must ha' heard the name
somewhere and hitched his dream to it."

The name, as it chanced, was one of many syllables, and the sailors
managed them badly. Men who speak of the islands of Diego Ramirez as
the "Daggarammarines" are not likely to deal faithfully with a narrie
that rings delicately like guitar strings, and Dan observed that
their mention of the barque's destination had no effect upon the
Dago. For him all ports had become indifferent; one was not nearer
than another to any place of his desire. He spoke no more of his
town; when the men, trying to draw him, spoke about food, or women,
or other roads to luxury, he answered without smiling.

"I t'ink no more 'bout dat," he said. "T'ree year work an' have bad
times. Before, I don' remember o more."

"He was better when he was crazy," agreed the seamen. It was as
though the gaiety, the spring of gladness, within the little man had
been dried up; there was left only the incompetent and despised Dago.
He faced the routine of his toil now with no smile of preoccupation
for a sweeter vision; he shuffled about decks, futile as ever, with
the dreariness of a man in prison.

Only to Dan he spoke more freely. It was while the watch was washing
down decks in the morning. The two were side by side, plying their
brooms along the wet planks, while about them the dawn broadened
towards the tropic day.

"I am no more mad," said the Dago. "Now I know I am not mad. Dat name
of de place where we go de men don' know how to speak it, but it is
de name of my town, de town I t'ink about once so much. Yais I know!
At last, after all dis time, I come dere, but I am not glad. I am
never glad no more 'bout not'ing."

Dan worked on. He could think of no answer to make.

"Only 'bout one t'ing I am glad," went on the Dago. "'Bout a friend I
make on dis ship; 'bout you, Dan."

"Oh, hell!" grunted Dan awkwardly.

"But 'bout de town, I am no more glad. I know now it is more better
to be sad an' poor an' weak dan to be mad an' glad about fancies.
Yais I know now!"

"You'll be all right," said Dan. "Cheer up, lad. There's fellers
worse off than you!" An inspiration lit up his honest and downright
brain for a moment. "Why," he said, "it's better to be you than be a
feller like Bill that never had a fancy in his life. You've lost a
lot, maybe; but you can't lose a thing you never had."

The Dago half-smiled. "Ya