something almost
undistinguishable, the mere support for the soles of his two feet before
that unexpected old man becoming so suddenly articulate in a darkening
universe.

It took him a moment or so to seize the drift of the question. He
repeated slowly: `Unusual... Oh, you mean for an elderly man to be the
second of a ship. I don't know. There are a good many of us who don't
get on. He didn't get on, I suppose.'

The other, his head bowed a little, had the air of listening with acute
attention.

"And now he has been taken to the hospital," he said.

"I believe so. Yes. I remember Captain Anthony saying so in the
shipping office."

"Possibly about to die," went on the old man, in his careful deliberate
tone. "And perhaps glad enough to die."

Mr Powell was young enough, to be startled at the suggestion, which
sounded confidential and blood-curdling in the dusk. He said sharply
that it was not very likely, as if defending the absent victim of the
accident from an unkind aspersion. He felt, in fact, indignant. The
other emitted a short stifled laugh of a conciliatory nature. The
second bell rang under the poop. He made a movement at the sound, but
lingered.

"What I said was not meant seriously," he murmured, with that strange
air of fearing to be overheard. "Not in this case. I know the man."

The occasion, or rather the want of occasion, for this conversation, had
sharpened the perceptions of the unsophisticated second officer of the
_Ferndale_. He was alive to the slightest shade of tone, and felt as if
this "I know the man" should have been followed by a "he was no friend
of mine." But after the shortest possible break the old gentleman
continued to murmur distinctly and evenly:

"Whereas you have never seen him. Nevertheless, when you have gone
through as many years as I have, you will understand how an event
putting an end to one's existence may not be altogether unwelcome. Of
course there are stupid accidents. And even then one needn't be very
angry. What is it to be deprived of life? It's soon done. But what
would you think of the feelings of a man who should have had his life
stolen from him? Cheated out of it, I say!"

He ceased abruptly, and remained still long enough for the astonished
Powell to stammer out an indistinct: "What do you mean? I don't
understand." Then, with a low `Good-night' glided a few steps, and sank
through the shadow of the companion into the lampligh