that he had never heard such words as came from the lips of his
fellow seamen--great mouth-filling, soul-searing words--words unclean,
nauseating, unspeakable, and yet spoken.

I don't say that Eddie Houghton had not taken his drink now and then.
There were certain dark rumors in our town to the effect that favored
ones who dropped into Kunz's more often than seemed needful were
privileged to have a thimbleful of something choice in the prescription
room, back of the partition at the rear of the drug store. But that was
the most devilish thing that Eddie had ever done.

I don't say that all crews are like that one. Perhaps he was unfortunate
in falling in with that one. But it was an Eastern trip, and every port
was a Port Said. Eddie Houghton's thoughts were not these men's
thoughts; his actions were not their actions, his practices were not
their practices. To Eddie Houghton, a Chinese woman in a sampan on the
water front at Shanghai was something picturesque; something about which
to write home to his mother and to Josie. To those other men she was
possible prey.

Those other men saw that he was different, and they pestered him. They
ill-treated him when they could, and made his life a hellish thing. Men
do those things, and people do not speak of it.

I don't know all the things that he suffered. But in his mind, day by
day, grew the great, overwhelming desire to get away from it all--from
this horrible life that was such a dreadful mistake. I think that during
the long night watches his mind was filled with thoughts of our decent
little town--of his mother's kitchen, with its Wednesday and Saturday
scent of new-made bread--of the shady front porch, with its purple
clematis--of the smooth front yard which it was his Saturday duty to mow
that it might be trim and sightly for Sunday--of the boys and girls who
used to drop in at the drug store--those clear-eyed, innocently
coquettish, giggling, blushing girls in their middy blouses and white
skirts, their slender arms and throats browned from tennis and boating,
their eyes smiling into his as they sat perched at the fountain after a
hot set of tennis--those slim, clean young boys, sun-browned, laughing,
their talk all of swimming, and boating, and tennis, and girls.

He did not realize that it was desertion--that thought that grew and grew
in his mind. In it there was nothing of faithlessness to his country.
He was only trying to be true to himself, and