low; and periodically
his shadow leaped up intense by his side on the trunks of the trees,
to lengthen itself, oblique and dim, far over the grass--repeating his
stride.

The discretion of it. Was there a choice? He seemed already to have lost
something of himself; to have given up to a hungry specter something of
his truth and dignity in order to live. But his life was necessary. Let
poverty do its worst in exacting its toll of humiliation. It was certain
that Ned Eliott had rendered him, without knowing it, a service for
which it would have been impossible to ask. He hoped Ned would not think
there had been something underhand in his action. He supposed that now
when he heard of it he would understand--or perhaps he would only think
Whalley an eccentric old fool. What would have been the good of telling
him--any more than of blurting the whole tale to that man Massy? Five
hundred pounds ready to invest. Let him make the best of that. Let him
wonder. You want a captain--I want a ship. That's enough. B-r-r-r-r.
What a disagreeable impression that empty, dark, echoing steamer had
made upon him. . . .

A laid-up steamer was a dead thing and no mistake; a sailing-ship
somehow seems always ready to spring into life with the breath of the
incorruptible heaven; but a teamer, thought Captain Whalley, with her
fires out, without the warm whiffs from below meeting you on her decks,
without the hiss of steam, the clangs of iron in her breast--lies there
as cold and still and pulseless as a corpse.

In the solitude of the avenue, all black above and lighted below,
Captain Whalley, considering the discretion of his course, met, as it
were incidentally, the thought of death. He pushed it aside with dislike
and contempt. He almost laughed at it; and in the unquenchable vitality
of his age only thought with a kind of exultation how little he needed
to keep body and soul together. Not a bad investment for the poor
woman this solid carcass of her father. And for the rest--in case of
anything--the agreement should be clear: the whole five hundred to
be paid back to her integrally within three months. Integrally. Every
penny. He was not to lose any of her money whatever else had to go--a
little dignity--some of his self-respect. He had never before allowed
anybody to remain under any sort of false impression as to himself.
Well, let that go--for her sake. After all, he had never _said_ anything
misleading--and Captain Whalley felt hims