you."

"The--what?"

"You know--Kipling idea--riding horseback, head of a column--
undress uniform--colonel's wife making eyes at you--leading last
hopes and all that."

"The British army with Kipling trimmings being out of the question,
the original issue is still before us. I'll have to work, Mac, and
work like the devil, if I'm to feed myself."

There being no answer to this, McWhirter contented himself with
eyeing me.

"I'm thinking," I said, "of going to Europe. The sea is calling
me, Mac."

"So was the grave a month ago, but it didn't get you. Don't be an ass,
boy. How are you going to sea?"

"Before the mast." This apparently conveying no meaning to McWhirter,
I supplemented--"as a common sailor."

He was indignant at first, offering me his room and a part of his
small salary until I got my strength; then he became dubious; and
finally, so well did I paint my picture of long, idle days on the
ocean, of sweet, cool nights under the stars, with breezes that
purred through the sails, rocking the ship to slumber--finally he
waxed enthusiastic, and was even for giving up the pharmacy at