rial
mast--a pole reaching like a dark needle into the sky--and found there
a low, dark building of varnished pine with a small door of eroded,
green brass.

The rain-washed pine, the complete absence of windows, and the
austerity of the massive brass door contributed to a personality of
dignified and pessimistic aloofness. The building occupied a place to
itself, as if its reserve were not to be tampered with, as if its dark
and sullen mystery were not meant for the prying eyes of passing
strangers.

Peter knocked brazenly upon the door, and it clanked shallowly, giving
forth no inward echo. He waited expectantly.

It yawned open to the accompaniment of grumbled curses in a distinctly
tenor whine.

A man with a white, shocked face stared at him from the threshold. The
countenance was long, tapering, and it ended nowhere. Dull, mocking
eyes with a burned-out look in them stared unblinkingly into Peter's
face.

Peter could have shouted in recognition of the weak face, but he
compressed his lips and bowed respectfully instead.

"What the hell do you want?" growled the man on the threshold.

"May Buddha bring the thousandth blessing to the soul of your virtuous
mother," said Peter in solemn, benedictive tones. "It is my pleasure
to desire entrance."

"Speak English, eh?" shrilled the man. "Dammit! Then come in!" And
to this invitation he added blasphemy in Peter's own tongue that made
his heart turn sour. It was the useless, raving blasphemy of a
weakling. It was the man as Peter had known him of old. But a little
worse. He still wore what remained of his Marconi uniform, tattered,
grease-stained coat and trousers, with the ragged white and blue
emblems of the steamship line by which he had been employed before he
had disappeared. His bony hands trembled incessantly, and his face had
the chalky pastiness native to the opium eater.

Peter, reflecting upon the honor which that uniform had always meant
for him, felt like knocking this chattering, wild-eyed creature down
and trampling upon him. But he bowed respectfully. The door clanged
behind him, and his eye absorbed in an instant the details of the
ponderously high-powered electrical apparatus.

"Speak God's language, eh?" whined the man. "Sit down and don't stare
so. Sit down. Sit down."

"A mandarin never seats himself, O high one, until thrice invited."

"Thrice, four, five times, I tell you to sit down!" he babbled. "Men,
even rat-ea