perdo; todo es
perdo_!"

The phrase clung in the mind of the girl; and she rose at last and went
back to her bunk, repeating: "_Todo es perdo; todo es perdo! All is
lost; all is lost_!"

No tears were in her eyes; they were wide and solemn, looking up to the
shadows of the ceiling, and so she went to sleep with the solemn Spanish
phrase echoing through her whole being: "_Todo es perdo_!"

She woke with the smell of frying bacon pungent in her nostrils.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

BACON

The savour of roasting chicken, that first delicious burst of aroma when
the oven door is opened, would tempt an angel from heaven down to the
lowly earth. A Southerner declares that his nostrils can detect at a
prodigious distance the cooking of "possum and taters." A Kanaka has a
cosmopolitan appetite, but the fragrance which moves him most nearly is
the scent of fish baking in Ti leaves. A Frenchman waits unmoved until
the perfume of some rich lamb ragout, an air laden with spices, is
wafted toward him.

Every man and every nation has a special dish, in general; there is only
one whose appeal is universal. It is not for any class or nation; it is
primarily for "the hungry man," no matter what has given him an
appetite. It may be that he has pushed a pen all day, or reckoned up
vast columns, or wielded a sledge-hammer, or ridden a wild horse from
morning to night; but the savour of peculiar excellence to the nostrils
of this universal hungry man is the smell of frying bacon.

A keen appetite is even stronger than sorrow, and when Sally Fortune
awoke with that strong perfume in her nostrils, she sat straight up
among the blankets, startled as the cavalry horse by the sound of the
trumpet. What she saw was Anthony Bard kneeling by the coals of the fire
over which steamed a coffee-pot on one side and a pan of crisping bacon
on the other.

The vision shook her so that she rubbed her eyes and stared again to
make sure. It did not seem possible that she had actually wakened during
the night and found him gone, and with this reality before her she was
strongly tempted to believe that the coming of Nash was only a vivid
dream.

"Morning, Anthony."

He turned his head quickly and smiled to her.

"Hello, Sally."

He was back at once, turning the bacon, which was done on the first
side. Seeing that his back was turned, she dressed quickly.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Well."

"Where?"

He turned more slowly this time.

"You wok