"Hallelujah!" said Ensign Sand cheerfully, with a meretricious air of
hearing it for the first time. "Any more?" And a Norwegian sailor
lurched shamefacedly upon his feet. He had a couple of inches of
straggling yellow beard all round his face, and twirled a battered straw
hat.

"I haf to say only dis word. I goin' sdop by Jesus. Long time I subbose
I sdop by Jesus. I subbose----"

"Glory be to God!" remarked Ensign Sand again, spiking the guns of the
Duke's Own, who were inclined to be amused. "That will do, thank you.
Now, is there nobody else? Speak up, friends. It'll do you no harm, none
whatever; it'll do you that much good you'll be surprised. Now, who'll
be the next to say a word for Jesus?" She was nodding encouragement at
the negro cook as if she knew him for a wavering soul, and he, sunk in
his gleaming white collar, was aware, in silent, smiling misery, that
the expectations of the meeting were toward him. Laura had again hidden
her eyes in her hand. The negro fingered his watch-chain foolishly, and
the prettiest of the East Indian half-castes tried hard to disguise her
perception that an African, in his best clothes, under conviction of
sin, was the funniest thing in the world. The silence seemed to focus
itself upon the cook, who fumbled at his coat collar and cleared his
voice. It was a shock to all concerned when Stephen Arnold, picking up
his hat, got upon his feet instead.

"I also," he said, "would offer my humble testimony to the grace of
God--with all my heart."

It was as if he had repeated part of the creed in the performance of his