THE ABYSS


They sighted the English shore a few days later on an evening of mist and
rain. The sea was grey and dim, the atmosphere cold and inhospitable.

"Just like England!" said Saltash. "She never gushes over her prodigals."

He was dining alone in the saloon with Toby behind his chair, Larpent
being absent on the bridge.

"Don't you like England, sir?" said Toby.

"I adore her," said Saltash with his most hideous grimace. "But I don't
go to her for amusement."

Toby came forward to fill his glass with liqueur. "Too strait-laced,
sir?" he suggested with the suspicion of a smile.

Saltash nodded with a sidelong glance at the young face bent over the
decanter. "Too limited in many ways, my Toby," he said. "But at the same
time useful in certain emergencies. A stern mother perhaps, but a wise
one on the whole. You, for instance--she will be the making of you."

A slight tremor went through Toby. He set down the decanter and stepped
back. "Of me, sir?" he said.

Saltash nodded again. He was fingering the stem of his glass, his
queer eyes dancing a little. "We've got to make a respectable citizen
of you--somehow," he said.