For some nights, now, the hunchback had read late of nights, because he
"didn't feel sleepy." Daily, Little Billy's lean face grew more lined
and aged; in the past week his appearance had taken on a half-score
years. He still retained his smile, but it was even wan at times. In
his eyes lurked misery. Martin knew that the books he took to bed were
mainly a subterfuge to enable Little Billy to keep the light burning.
For Little Billy was waging a battle with his ancient enemy, and he had
grown afraid of the dark.

A week before, he had abruptly said to Martin:

"I gave the key of the medicine-chest to Ruth today. I won't be able
to get at _that_ booze, anyway." To Martin's startled look, he added:
"I want you to know, so you won't be surprised by the capers I am
liable to cut for a while. You see, I am dancing to old Fiddler
Booze's tune. I want to go on a drunk--every part of me craves
alcohol. And I am determined to keep sober.

"Oh, it is nothing to startle you, Martin. I never get violent. Only,
I'll be in plain hell for a couple of weeks. Then the craving will go
away, to return at ever shorter intervals, until I do get ashore on a
good bust. No, I'll keep sober till I reach shore again--whatever
comes. No raiding the bosun's locker for shellac or wood-alcohol this
voyage."

"Good Lord, you wouldn't do that!" exclaimed Martin.

"Oh, yes--I did it once," confessed Little Billy easily. "Indeed, a
swig of shellac punch is drink for the gods; my very soul writhes now
at the thought of it. But, I'll admit, the wood-alcohol beverage
conceals complications. It was the captain, and his little
stomach-pump, that brought me to that time. But no more of such
frolicking on board ship. That episode occurred during my first year
with Captain Dabney. Never since have I succumbed to the craving while
at sea. Oh, I'll be all right this time--only don't be startled if you
hear me talking to myself, or roaming about in the middle of the night."

That was all that passed between them. But during the days following
Martin's eyes often rested on the other with curiosity and sympathy.
It was a new experience for Martin, to be room-mated with a
dipsomaniac, and besides Little Billy had grown to be a very dear
friend, indeed. Everybody on the ship loved the sunny hunchback.

Little Billy's happy face grew bleak, and many fine lines appeared
about the corners of his eyes and mouth. He was suffering keenly,