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The tall man made no reply, save in a strained undertone. “It’ll break in about a minute! Look, Ted, look quick!”

The freckled man glanced in a little bed on which were heaped boots and oilskins. He made a courteous gesture.

“My dear sir, we could not think of depriving you of your beds. No, indeed. Just a couple of blankets if you have them, and we’ll sleep very comfortable on these benches.”

The captain protested, politely twisting his back and bobbing his head. The suspenders tugged and creaked. The tall man partially suppressed a cry, and took a step forward.

The freckled man was sleepily insistent, and shortly the captain gave over his deprecatory contortions. He fetched a pink quilt with yellow dots on it to the freckled man, and a black one with red roses on it to the tall man.

Again he vanished in the firmament. The tall man gazed until the last remnant of trousers disappeared from the sky. Then he wrapped himself up in his quilt and lay down. The freckled man was puffing contentedly, swathed like an infant. The yellow polka-dots rose and fell on the vast pink of his chest.

The wanderers slept. In the quiet could be heard the groanings of timbers as the sea seemed to crunch them together. The lapping of water along the vessel’s side sounded like gaspings. A hundred spirits of the wind had got their wings entangled in the rigging, and, in soft voices, were pleading to be loosened.

The freckled man was awakened by a foreign noise. He opened his eyes and saw his companion standing by his couch.

His comrade’s face was wan with suffering. His eyes glowed in the darkness. He raised his arms, spreading them out like a clergyman at a grave. He groaned deep in his chest.

“Good Lord!” yelled the freckled man, starting up. “Tom, Tom, what’s th’ matter?”

The tall man spoke in a fearful voice. “To New York,” he said, “to New York in our bathing-suits.”

The freckled man sank back. The shadows of the cabin threw mysteries about the figure of the tall man, arrayed like some ancient and potent astrologer in the black quilt with the red roses on it.

CHAPTER V

Directly the tall man went and lay down and began to groan.

The freckled man felt the miseries of the world upon him. He grew angry at the tall man awakening him. They quarrelled.

“Well,” said the tall man, finally, “we’re in a fix.”

“I know that,” said the other, sharply.

They regarded the ceiling in silence.

“What in the thunder are we going to do?” demanded the tall man, after a time. His companion was still silent. “Say,” repeated he, angrily, “what in the thunder are we going to do?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said the freckled man in a dismal voice.

“Well, think of something,” roared the other. “Think of something, you old fool. You don’t want to make any more idiots of yourself, do you?”

“I ain’t made an idiot of myself.”

“Well, think. Know anybody in the city?”

“I know a fellow up in Harlem,” said the freckled man.

“You know a fellow up in Harlem,” howled the tall man. “Up in Harlem! How the dickens are we to–say, you’re crazy!”

“We can take a cab,” cried the other, waxing indignant.

The tall man grew suddenly calm. “Do you know any one else?” he asked, measuredly.

“I know another fellow somewhere on Park Place.”

“Somewhere on Park Place,” repeated the tall man in an unnatural manner. “Somewhere on Park Place.” With an air of sublime resignation he turned his face to the wall.

The freckled man sat erect and frowned in the direction of his companion. “Well, now, I suppose you are going to sulk. You make me ill! It’s the best we can do, ain’t it? Hire a cab and go look that fellow up on Park–What’s that? You can’t afford it? What nonsense! You are getting–Oh! Well, maybe we can beg some clothes of the captain. Eh? Did I see ‘im? Certainly, I saw ‘im. Yes, it is improbable that a man who wears trousers like that can have clothes to lend. No, I won’t wear oilskins and a sou’-wester. To Athens? Of course not! I don’t know where it is. Do you? I thought not. With all your grumbling about other people, you never know anything important yourself. What? Broadway? I’ll be hanged first. We can get off at Harlem, man alive. There are no cabs in Harlem. I don’t think we can bribe a sailor to take us ashore and bring a cab to the dock, for the very simple reason that we have nothing to bribe him with. What? No, of course not. See here, Tom Sharp, don’t you swear at me like that. I won’t have it. What’s that? I ain’t, either. I ain’t. What? I am not. It’s no such thing. I ain’t. I’ve got more than you have, anyway. Well, you ain’t doing anything so very brilliant yourself–just lying there and cussin’.” At length the tall man feigned prodigiously to snore. The freckled man thought with such vigor that he fell asleep.