asted out. It was the
red-haired man's boast that he had once kept up to five hundred. As
Marcella turned the corner she saw them sitting under some palm trees
outside a little cafe, bottles and glasses before them. Louis, who
looked dirty and unkempt, was facing her. He broke off and darted
towards her.

"I wan' my money," he started.

"You're not going to have it--even if you try to get it with a sledge
hammer, as you said you might," she said, white lipped.

"You--you--you're keeping it for yourself!"

"Don't be such a fool, Louis. You know why I'm keeping it. If only you'd
stop drinking for a day or two your mind would come clear and you'd talk
to me."

"Gi' m' my money, I tell you! Thas' why you hooked on to me, at first.
You knew I was a gentleman! You guessed I'd plenty of money! Thas' what
you want of me--you know the Pater's a well-known publisher, an' you
think you'll do a good thing for yourself."

Marcella had a hard fight then; something told her that this was not
Louis speaking. She remembered that he had told her that drinking was an
illness. When Mrs. Mactavish had fever she remembered how the people in
the village had talked of the cruel things she had said to Mr. Mactavish
and her sister, and it came to Marcella that Louis was no more to be
blamed than she. But her native temper made her quiver to take him and
shake some sense in him, whether he were ill or not. It was in a
strained, quiet voice that she said:

"I'm not going to talk any more about it. You'll get it when you say
good-bye to me in Sydney," and so she turned away.

Just as the _Oriana_ sailed, about six o'clock she saw him come aboard
alone. His face was swollen, his eye blackened by a bruise; his collar
was splashed with blood and his white drill suit very dirty and
crumpled. She had seen Ole Fred carried on board some time ago by
sympathetic, rather maudlin friends. She guessed that war had flamed up
between the incongruous allies. Mrs. Hetherington, rather breathlessly,
confirmed her suspicion.

"He fought about you--Ole Fred said you'd been in his cabin, and young
Mr. Fame went for him," she said enviously.

"Of course I've been in his cabin. It's Jimmy's cabin--I had to get
Jimmy's clean things," she said indignantly.

Mrs. Hetherington put on an air of helpfulness.

"You should always be so careful, dearie. I am. Oh _most_ careful! I
never let dear Mistah Petahs put more than the tip of his shoe over my
doorway. And