rolled up the chart, laid it
in its place among the others, readjusted the thong of his so'wester,
stopped for a moment before a photograph of his wife and child, looked
at it long and earnestly, and then mounted the stairs to the bridge.
With the exception that the line of his mouth had straightened and
the knots in his eyebrows tightened, he was, despite the smoking-room
critics, the same bluff, determined sea-dog who had defied the Manager
the week before.

II

When Bonner, half an hour later, returned to the smoking-room (he, too,
had caught the splash of the sea, the spray drenching the rail), the Bum
Actor crossed over and took the seat beside him. The Texan was the only
passenger who had spoken to him since he came aboard, and he had already
begun to feel lonely. This time he started the conversation by brushing
the salt spray from the Agent's coat.

"Got wet, didn't you? Too bad! Wait till I wipe it off," and he dragged
a week-old handkerchief from his pocket. Then seeing that the Texan took
no notice of the attention, he added, "What did the Captain want?"

The Texan did not reply. He was evidently absorbed in something outside
his immediate surroundings, for he continued to sit with bent back, his
elbows on his knees, his eyes on the floor.

Again the question was repeated:

"What did the Captain want? Nothing the matter, is there?" Fear had
always been his master--fear of poverty mostly--and it was poverty in
the worst form to others if he failed to get home. This thought had
haunted him night and day.

"Yes and no. Don't worry--it'll all come out right. You seem nervous."

"I am. I've been through a lot and have almost reached the end of my
rope. Have you got a wife at home?" The Texan shook his head. "Well,
if you had you'd understand better than I can tell you. I have, and a
three-year-old boy besides. I'd never have left them if I'd known.
I came over under contract for a six months' engagement and we were
stranded in Pittsburg and had hard work getting back to New York. Some
of them are there yet. All I want now is to get home--nothing else will
save them. Here's a letter from her I don't mind showing you--you can
see for yourself what I'm up against. The boy never was strong."

The big Texan read it through carefully, handed it back without a
comment or word of sympathy, and then, with a glance around him, as if
in fear of being overheard, asked:

"Can you keep your nerve in a mix-up?"