ad them
with an avidity unknown to him since he had spent a month in London many
years before studying for his master's license. He felt on the highroad
to success. He joined the London School of Mnemonics. He bought an
engagement ring for Ada and a handsome bracelet for the married sister.
He left them for a while, he said, "to join up." He meant to do it, too,
for there is something pathetically appealing in the atmosphere of late
autumn in England. It goes to the heart. It is not quite so piercing a
call as the early spring, when one's very soul goes out in a mystical
passionate union with the spirit of the land, but it is very strong, and
Mr. Spokesly, without understanding it, felt the appeal. But at
Paddington he stopped and had a drink. For all his years at sea, he was
a Londoner at heart. He spoke the atrocious and barbarous jargon of her
suburbs, he snuffed the creosote of her wooden streets and found it an
admirable _aperatif_ to his London beer. And while the blowsy spirit of
London, the dear cockney-hearted town, ousted the gentler shade of
England, Mr. Spokesly reflected that neither the army nor the navy would
have any use for a man of commanding powers, a man whose will and memory
had been miraculously developed. The army would not do, he was sure. The
navy would probably put him in charge of a tug; for Mr. Spokesly had no
illusions as to the reality of the difficulties of life in his own
sphere. And he had been long enough at one thing to dread the wrench of
beginning at the bottom somewhere else. This is the tragic side of
military service in England, for most Englishmen are not adaptable. Mr.
Spokesly, for example, had gone to sea at the age of twelve. Unless he
won a lottery prize he would be going to sea at seventy, if he lived so
long. So he reflected, and the upshot was that he applied--quite humbly,
for he had not as yet developed any enormous will power--and secured a
billet as second officer on the _Tanganyika_. He told his people and Ada
that there was "a chance of a command," which of course was perfectly
true. "It is a man's work," she thrilled softly, echoing her sister, and
she closed her eyes to enjoy the vision of him, strong in character,
large in talent, irresistible in will power, commanding amid storms and
possibly even shot and shell....

* * * * *

Having kept the middle watch, which is from twelve to four, Mr. Spokesly
was sitting in his cabin abaft