e was copying what appeared to be a scale of
some sort or other.

"Hello, Hump," he greeted me genially. "I'm just finishing the finishing
touches. Want to see it work?"

"But what is it?" I asked.

"A labour-saving device for mariners, navigation reduced to kindergarten
simplicity," he answered gaily. "From to-day a child will be able to
navigate a ship. No more long-winded calculations. All you need is one
star in the sky on a dirty night to know instantly where you are. Look.
I place the transparent scale on this star-map, revolving the scale on
the North Pole. On the scale I've worked out the circles of altitude and
the lines of bearing. All I do is to put it on a star, revolve the scale
till it is opposite those figures on the map underneath, and presto!
there you are, the ship's precise location!"

There was a ring of triumph in his voice, and his eyes, clear blue this
morning as the sea, were sparkling with light.

"You must be well up in mathematics," I said. "Where did you go to
school?"

"Never saw the inside of one, worse luck," was the answer. "I had to dig
it out for myself."

"And why do you think I have made this thing?" he demanded, abruptly.
"Dreaming to leave footprints on the sands of time?" He laughed one of
his horrible mocking laughs. "Not at all. To get it patented, to make
money from it, to revel in piggishness with all night in while other men
do the work. That's my purpose. Also, I have enjoyed working it out."

"The creative joy," I murmured.

"I guess that's what it ought to be called. Which is another way of
expressing the joy of life in that it is alive, the triumph of movement
over matter, of the quick over the dead, the pride of the yeast because
it is yeast and crawls."

I threw up my hands with helpless disapproval of his inveterate
materialism and went about making the bed. He continued copying lines
and figures upon the transparent scale. It was a task requiring the
utmost nicety and precision, and I could not but admire the way he
tempered his strength to the fineness and delicacy of the need.

When I had finished the bed, I caught myself looking at him in a
fascinated sort of way. He was certainly a handsome man--beautiful in
the masculine sense. And again, with never-failing wonder, I remarked
the total lack of viciousness, or wickedness, or sinfulness in his face.
It was the face, I am convinced, of a man who did no wrong. And by this
I do not wi