ncertainly, as they crossed the street.

"Come on," he answered. "We'll talk by an' by."

He took her down a dark side way which led them to the water-front.
Wharves where work was going on roared and shone. The masts and spars
of ships rose stark against the sky. Beyond, the river was dotted
with lights against the luminous horizon of Manhattan. He slackened
his pace. At his side the silent girl trembled and sulked.

"Kid," said Goodwin, "there's one of us two that hasn't made good.
Which is it?"

A jib-boom slanted across a wall over their heads. They were alone
among sleeping ships.

"I don't know what you mean," answered the girl. "You say you've got
to talk to me, and you act--." She stopped.

"You don't know what I mean?" repeated Goodwin. "I'll have to tell
you, then."

They had come to a pause under the jib-boom of the silent ship. She
waited for him to go on, servile to the still mastery of his mien.

"That night the night I come to the mission for the first time," went
on Goodwin, "when you loaned me the book, I quit my ship to keep
close to you. That ain't nothin'; the ship was a terror, anyway. But
I seen you, and, girl, I couldn't get you out o' my head. You was all
right the next night, when I went along with you to your car; it
wasn't just because the missionary feller set you at me, neither.
What's gone wrong with me since?"

He asked the question mildly, with a tone of gentle and reasonable
inquiry.

"I haven't said anything was wrong with you," Answered the girl
sullenly. "I don't have to answer your questions, anyway."

"I reckon you do these questions," said Goodwin. "What is it, now? Am
I different to what you reckoned I was, or what? I never set up to be
anythin' but just plain man. Tell me what I'm shy of. Are you scared
you'll have to to marry me?"

"Oh!" The girl shrank away from him.

"That's it, is it? Well, you don't need to be." His voice was bitter.
"I'd never ha' dared to ask you before, an' now I wouldn't, anyway.
See? But I know, all the same, if I wasn't just a blasted sailor if I
was a storekeeper or a rich man I c'd have ye. Why, damme, I c'd have
ye anyway!"

She had backed before him; and now she was against the wall, uttering
a small moan of protest.

"I could," he repeated. "You know it. I'd only to go chasin' you, an'
in the end you'd give in. You're pretty; you got a shine on you that
fools a man. But you're a quitter a quitter! See? An' now you can
come awa