other
convictions Captain Whalley never intruded. The difference of their
ages was like another bond between them. Once, when twitted with the
uncharitableness of his youth, Mr. Van Wyk, running his eye over the
vast proportions of his interlocutor, retorted in friendly banter--

"Oh. You'll come to my way of thinking yet. You'll have plenty of time.
Don't call yourself old: you look good for a round hundred."

But he could not help his stinging incisiveness, and though moderating
it by an almost affectionate smile, he added--

"And by then you will probably consent to die from sheer disgust."

Captain Whalley, smiling too, shook his head. "God forbid!"

He thought that perhaps on the whole he deserved something better than
to die in such sentiments. The time of course would have to come, and he
trusted to his Maker to provide a manner of going out of which he need
not be ashamed. For the rest he hoped he would live to a hundred if need
be: other men had been known; it would be no miracle. He expected no
miracles.

The pronounced, argumentative tone caused Mr. Van Wyk to raise his head
and look at him steadily. Captain Whalley was gazing fixedly with a rapt
expression, as though he had seen his Creator's favorable decree written
in mysterious characters on the wall. He kept perfectly motionless for
a few seconds, then got his vast bulk on to his feet so impetuously that
Mr. Van Wyk was startled.

He struck first a heavy blow on his inflated chest: and, throwing out
horizontally a big arm that remained steady, extended in the air like
the limb of a tree on a windless day--

"Not a pain or an ache there. Can you see this shake in the least?"

His voice was low, in an awing, confident contrast with the headlong
emphasis of his movements. He sat down abruptly.

"This isn't to boast of it, you know. I am nothing," he said in his
effortless strong voice, that seemed to come out as naturally as a river
flows. He picked up the stump of the cigar he had laid aside, and added
peacefully, with a slight nod, "As it happens, my life is necessary; it
isn't my own, it isn't--God knows."

He did not say much for the rest of the evening, but several times Mr.
Van Wyk detected a faint smile of assurance flitting under the heavy
mustache.

Later on Captain Whalley would now and then consent to dine "at the
house." He could even be induced to drink a glass of wine. "Don't think
I am afraid of it, my good sir," he explained. "