bye to a woman. It's more
easy though to get rid of three women than a piece of one's life and
surroundings.'

'But a woman can be----' began Dick, unguardedly.

'A piece of one's life,' continued Torpenhow. 'No, she can't. His face
darkened for a moment. 'She says she wants to sympathise with you and
help you in your work, and everything else that clearly a man must
do for himself. Then she sends round five notes a day to ask why the
dickens you haven't been wasting your time with her.'

'Don't generalise,' said the Nilghai. 'By the time you arrive at
five notes a day you must have gone through a good deal and behaved
accordingly.

Shouldn't begin these things, my son.'

'I shouldn't have gone down to the sea,' said Dick, just a little
anxious to change the conversation. 'And you shouldn't have sung.'

'The sea isn't sending you five notes a day,' said the Nilghai.

'No, but I'm fatally compromised. She's an enduring old hag, and
I'm sorry I ever met her. Why wasn't I born and bred and dead in a
three-pair back?'

'Hear him blaspheming his first love! Why in the world shouldn't you
listen to her?' said Torpenhow.

Before Dick could reply the Nilghai lifted up his voice with a shout
that shook the windows, in 'The Men of the Sea,' that begins, as all
know, 'The sea is a wicked old woman,' and after rading through eight
lines whose imagery is truthful, ends in a refrain, slow as the clacking
of a capstan when the boat comes unwillingly up to the bars where the
men sweat and tramp in the shingle.

'"Ye that bore us, O restore us!
She is kinder than ye;
For the call is on our heart-strings!"
Said The Men of the Sea.'

The Nilghai sang that verse twice, with simple cunning, intending that
Dick should hear. But Dick was waiting for the farewell of the men to
their wives.

'"Ye that love us, can ye move us?
She is dearer than ye;
And your sleep will be the sweeter,"
Said The Men of the Sea.'

The rough words beat like the blows of the waves on the bows of the
rickety boat from Lima in the days when Dick was mixing paints, making
love, drawing devils and angels in the half dark, and wondering whether
the next minute would put the Italian captain's knife between his
shoulder-blades. And the go-fever which is more real than many doctors'
diseases, waked and raged, urging him who loved Maisie beyond anything
in the world, to go away and taste the old hot, unregenerate li