throat; that's a frozen fact; much good
may it do you! And where do I come in?'

The light of a strange excitement came in Herrick's face. 'Both of us,'
said he, 'both of us together. It's not possible you can enjoy this
business. Come,' and he reached out a timid hand, 'a few strokes in the
lagoon--and rest!'

'I tell you, Herrick, I'm 'most tempted to answer you the way the man
does in the Bible, and say, "Get thee behind me, Satan!"' said the
captain. 'What! you think I would go drown myself, and I got children
starving? Enjoy it? No, by God, I do not enjoy it! but it's the row
I've got to hoe, and I'll hoe it till I drop right here. I have three of
them, you see, two boys and the one girl, Adar. The trouble is that you
are not a parent yourself. I tell you, Herrick, I love you,' the man
broke out; 'I didn't take to you at first, you were so anglified and
tony, but I love you now; it's a man that loves you stands here and
wrestles with you. I can't go to sea with the bummer alone; it's not
possible. Go drown yourself, and there goes my last chance--the last
chance of a poor miserable beast, earning a crust to feed his family.
I can't do nothing but sail ships, and I've no papers. And here I get
a chance, and you go back on me! Ah, you've no family, and that's where
the trouble is!'

'I have indeed,' said Herrick.

'Yes, I know,' said the captain, 'you think so. But no man's got
a family till he's got children. It's only the kids count. There's
something about the little shavers... I can't talk of them. And if
you thought a cent about this father that I hear you talk of, or that
sweetheart you were writing to this morning, you would feel like me. You
would say, What matters laws, and God, and that? My folks are hard up,
I belong to them, I'll get them bread, or, by God! I'll get them wealth,
if I have to burn down London for it. That's what you would say. And
I'll tell you more: your heart is saying so this living minute. I can
see it in your face. You're thinking, Here's poor friendship for the man
I've starved along of, and as for the girl that I set up to be in love
with, here's a mighty limp kind of a love that won't carry me as far
as 'most any man would go for a demijohn of whisky. There's not much
ROmance to that love, anyway; it's not the kind they carry on about in
songbooks. But what's the good of my carrying on talking, when it's all
in your inside as plain as print? I put the question to you once for