inks, no small boy to send around the corner for a can of beer and by
means of that social fluid start the amenities of friendship flowing.

"You have such a scar on your neck, Mr. Eden," the girl was saying. "How
did it happen? I am sure it must have been some adventure."

"A Mexican with a knife, miss," he answered, moistening his parched lips
and clearing hip throat. "It was just a fight. After I got the knife
away, he tried to bite off my nose."

Baldly as he had stated it, in his eyes was a rich vision of that hot,
starry night at Salina Cruz, the white strip of beach, the lights of the
sugar steamers in the harbor, the voices of the drunken sailors in the
distance, the jostling stevedores, the flaming passion in the Mexican's
face, the glint of the beast-eyes in the starlight, the sting of the
steel in his neck, and the rush of blood, the crowd and the cries, the
two bodies, his and the Mexican's, locked together, rolling over and over
and tearing up the sand, and from away off somewhere the mellow tinkling
of a guitar. Such was the picture, and he thrilled to the memory of it,
wondering if the man could paint it who had painted the pilot-schooner on
the wall. The white beach, the stars, and the lights of the sugar
steamers would look great, he thought, and midway on the sand the dark
group of figures that surrounded the fighters. The knife occupied a
place in the picture, he decided, and would show well, with a sort of
gleam, in the light of the stars. But of all this no hint had crept into
his speech. "He tried to bite off my nose," he concluded.

"Oh," the girl said, in a faint, far voice, and he noticed the shock in
her sensitive face.

He felt a shock himself, and a blush of embarrassment shone faintly on
his sunburned cheeks, though to him it burned as hotly as when his cheeks
had been exposed to the open furnace-door in the fire-room. Such sordid
things as stabbing affrays were evidently not fit subjects for
conversation with a lady. People in the books, in her walk of life, did
not talk about such things--perhaps they did not know about them, either.

There was a brief pause in the conversation they were trying to get
started. Then she asked tentatively about the scar on his cheek. Even
as she asked, he realized that she was making an effort to talk his talk,
and he resolved to get away from it and talk hers.

"It was just an accident," he said, putting his hand to his cheek. "One
night