him, by the electric lamps, as a lurking passenger to
be watched; and wondered who, at that depth in the ship, could be
carrying valuables to tempt a middle-aged gentleman who (if looks
were any guide) ought to be up and losing money to the regular
card-sharpers.

It was not until the second day out, and pretty late in the
afternoon, that Foe emerged from his cabin, neatly dressed and hale.
(Unlike some Professors I have known, Jack kept his clothes brushed
and his hair cut.) As he opened his door his ear caught a slight
shuffling sound; whereupon he smiled and stepped quickly down the
passage to the turn of the companion way.

"No hurry, Farrell!" he called; and Farrell, arrested, turned slowly
about on the stair. "Man, you're like the swain in Thackeray:"

Although I enter not,
Yet round about the spot
Oft-times I hover--

"Solicitous, were you?--thought I might be sea-sick?"

"I was wondering," Farrell stammered. "Seeing that you didn't turn
up at meals--"

(Here I must read you a queer remark from the letter in which Jack
reported this encounter. Here's the extract:--)

"_Do you know, Roddy, that silly simple answer gave me half a
fright for a moment, or a fright for half a moment--I forget
which. . . . What I had to remember then was my discovery that I
had my second keyboard in reserve and could pull certain stops
out of him at will. . . . But seriously, I wouldn't, without
that power, back myself in this experiment against a man who
obstinately persisted in forgiving. It came on me with a
flash--and I offer this tribute to the Christian religion_."

Foe's answer was, "Very kind of you. As a fact, I have been
subsisting on hard biscuit and weak whisky-and-water: though I'm an
excellent sailor, as they say. . . . It's a diet that suits me when
I'm working hard."

"Working?" exclaimed Farrell. "What? Head-work, d'you mean? . . .
Doctor, this is the best news you could have told me. If only I
could know that you were picking up your interests--getting back to
yourself--"

Foe took him by the arm. "It's no good, unfortunately," he answered.
"Come up on deck, and I'll tell you."

On deck he repeated, "It's no good. I've been hard at it, working on
my memory, trying to sketch out a kind of monograph--summary of
conclusions--salvage from the wreck. But it won't do. It was an
edifice to be built up on data, bit by bit, like an atoll. . .