Masters gathered in his luggage from Charing Cross cloak room; reached St. Katharine's Docks with it; got aboard La Mascotte.

He was first in the cabin; was arranging his things in an orderly way when Mr. Rigby came aboard. The second tenant of the cabin looked every bit of the wreck he had painted himself.

The author, quick of observation, gauged him to be a man of twenty-five or thereabouts. Younger possibly, but dissipation is an artist who graves deep lines; wrinkles are ageing things. Still of fine physique, but dull-eyed, heavy, face bluish and swollen.

Masters, sweeping a comprehensive glance round, brushed up the new comer with it; said generally:

"I am first to take possession. It seems we are to be close companions on this voyage; too close, in one sense."

He referred to the size of the cabin; then stretching out his hand, continued:

"Let me introduce myself. William Charleigh, journalist. I sincerely hope we shall be very good friends whilst we are together."

The gloom on Dick's face lighted; his colourless horizon seemed brightened; it was as if the sun had suddenly popped out. This cheerful, strong-looking man making overtures of friendship, dissipated all his fearsomeness of solitude on the voyage. Eagerly gripping the hand held out, he shook it long and earnestly; saying:

"I reciprocate that! Thanks! My name's Rigby. Nothing by profession and very little better by nature. I have just come out of—out of an illness. I am taking the trip in the hope of—of getting well."

"No trip like it!" Masters' response was cheerily uttered. "Take my word for that. I took the voyage some years ago, and it pulled me off the grave's brink."

"Really! You look so strong and well I should not have thought you'd had an illness in all the days of your life."

Lies, white lies, came to Masters' lips with the readiness of fiction flowing from his pen; he said:

"I went to the dogs and the dogs nearly did for me. That's an unpleasant way they have when you get inside the kennel. It's a mere shave I'm here talking to you. I pulled up just in time."

"No!"

There were both astonishment and eagerness in Dick's question; both of the most intense kind. Masters' lying was very successful. He was acting so with a view to drawing his companion out.

If a confession could be got from the sick man it would help. Dick would rely for strength and help on the man he had confessed to. That was only human nature.

If you tell a man your troubles he is more than likely to want to tell you his own. A keen observer was Masters; knew that confidence begets confidence. So himself became very confidential.

"It is a fact," he continued. "Like a great number of others, I liked society, and cards, and wine, and—well, I am quite cured now, so I don't mind confessing it. I sacrificed at the shrine of Bacchus too often, and Bacchus resented it. The drink god is an ungrateful sort of deity, isn't he? He sent me visions of snakes and other creepy-crawlies. When I came out of the land of visions I was the most washed-out wreck you ever saw. The doctor gave me up."

"No?"

Dick ejaculated the word almost breathlessly. His own doctor had not gone so far as that. There was more than a chance of hope, after all! He listened.

"Fact. When I heard that, I was on the verge of suicide. Then they put me on a boat doing the Mediterranean trip; just as this one is. This brings back old times, and—well, here I am, you see; I am all right now."

"And the doctor, you say—but how did you—did you conquer your craving?"

"Sheer force of will. I took an oath that whilst I was on the ship I wouldn't touch a drop."

"I have done that, too!"

"You?"

Masters started round in astonishment: really a clever piece of acting.

"Yes.... Well, the cat's out of the bag now. Thank God I haven't got a temperance crank for a companion on the voyage. I have done what you have done, and I am setting out to do now what you did: coming away to get shut of it all. To try and break myself free from the curse."

"You'll do it!"

The flushed face flushed still deeper; deepened to purple, at the assurance. But the dulled eyes had quite an eager light in them, as the speaker pressed his question:

"You think I will? You really think I will? That I have strength enough?"

"Of course! It's the despondent times you have to fear; just don't fear them. Just hang on to me when you feel them coming. Don't get by yourself; it's like taking one's pill uncoated; cling to me like a barnacle. I'll help you to kill your blue devils!"

"You will? By God!" He spoke almost breathlessly; the proffered help was so sweet: hit him in the face. "You're a brick! And a stranger, too; never set eyes on me before!"

"Never. Quite right; never set eyes on you before! But remember, we've been burnt in the same fire. A fellow-feeling makes us—you know the rest."

"By Jove! You are wondrous kind. Do you know, I funked this voyage; funked it believing there was death aboard—overboard—for me. Imagined every soul would read the story in my face and shun me. People are so apt to judge the quality of a pasture by the length of the grass."

"Rot!"

Masters was shuddering inwardly as he looked at his companion. This bloated youth, who looked five-and-twenty, yet spoke with the boyishness of eighteen. He dived into his secret apprehension; shuddered to think that the woman he loved should be linked to such a drink-sodden wretch. Thought of her induced him to lower the sail of his dignity.

There was the hope, the chance, of reformation. When Rigby set foot on the vessel it had been with despair at his heart; he had attended the funeral of hope long ago. Things were different now. As for Masters, he realized that the man was young; might perhaps still meet with salvation.

But it was a thin reed on which to rely: his youth; a two-edged fact: might cut either way. Masters was quite aware of that as he uttered the reassuring monosyllable. Spoke in a forced tone of conviction; there is a limit to suffering; none to fear.

The odds, too, are against a drunkard's reformation; all Lombard Street to a China orange. Anyway, it was a fact he was going to do his level best to turn things to good account. The youngster must be spurred on; not to advance is to retreat. Not only is courage needed in facing a difficulty, but the ability to grapple with it; if looked in the face too long, it is apt to stare us out of countenance.

"I believe you." Rigby spoke with grateful fervour. "Anyway, I am not going to face the future gloomily now!"

"That's half the battle. After all, life's only a journey; it's more or less our own fault if we don't make a pleasure excursion of it."

"I believe that."

"I know it. Remember, I have been in the battle, and came out upper dog. So long as you win the race, what does it matter whether you had a good start or not?"

"Anyway, I shall keep you to your word. If I feel that awful thirst coming on me; feel, as I have felt, that Hell's got its doors gaping wide open for me, I shall worry you."

"You won't; not worry me. Come that moment you hear the hinges start creaking, and we'll try, try together, to keep the doors shut."

"That you should take all this trouble——"

"Trouble be hanged! Don't you know how easy it is to poke another man's fire?"

Masters' eyes looked honestly into Dick's; he was very honest of purpose. Wanted, with all his soul, to keep those doors closed. For the sake of the woman whose trust had been betrayed; for the sake of the little one. He knew how facile is the descent into Hell. Knew, too, that a man ambitious to make a fool of himself never lacks help.

How shines a good deed in this bad world! The goodness of his own was illuminating Masters' eyes at that moment. And he had no fear of the proverb: that if he conferred a favour he might expect ingratitude. Plainly, Rigby was not built on those lines.

Dick was not much of a psychologist or mind reader. Saw only the honest eyes bright with enthusiasm; found them inspiriting; knew nothing of the inner thought prompting this extraordinary kindness.

His was not an inquiring nature; in his happy-go-lucky way he accepted Fate unquestionably. Help had come in his way, and he snapped at it as suddenly as if it were a dish of snapdragon. In response to Masters' words, he mentally thanked his stars, physically held out his hand. In silence, gratefully gripped his companion; was too thankful to speak.

Masters resumed his assumption of cheerfulness. Knew the difficulty he had to face before he spoke: putting seed into the ground does not make a harvest certain; said:

"Now, there is another thing to discuss: about the grub."

"My dear old chap!" Earnestness, conviction in his tone. "I feel as if I shouldn't touch food again for months."

"I know. That's not an unusual symptom." Masters affected to laugh. "I felt like that. And if you go to the saloon table you'll feel like it for quite a while. Look here now!" He spoke suddenly, as if inspired with an idea. "Will you leave your commissariat to me?"

"To you! But why on earth, now, should you be troubled to——"

Masters let a shade of annoyance creep over his face. There was no misreading it. Assuming, too, a tone of regret; he said:

"You mean that? That you would rather I did not interfere?"

The facial expression and voice had the desired effect. Cheated the younger man—surely he must be very young!—into expostulating:

"My dear old chap! For Heaven's sake don't think I mean anything of that sort! I'll do whatever you say."

So he would; that was plainly evident. The strong will had conquered the weaker. Masters felt overjoyed at his success. Most hearts have secret drawers in them containing some good traits: if we can only find the spring.

Moreover, strange as it seemed, Masters was conscious of the birth of a liking for his young companion. He was surprised, too, to realize that he was but a boy. Had thought him five-and-twenty at first; now imagined him to be not much over one-and-twenty years of age—if that.

It was, in a measure, a welcome surprise. His imagination had portrayed Rigby as a hardened debauchee; sunken in vice as sodden in drink. Mingled with the surprise, too, was a feeling of wonder that Gracie's mother should, with one younger than herself——But there, he told himself, there was no accounting for these things; there was no logic or reason in them.

"Very well, then"—Masters speaking, his face cleared of its cloud—"I'll arrange with the steward and the cook. Fresh milk, while it lasts, and beef tea right away till you feel you can compass solidity little and often; that is my prescription."

"You are a good old chap!"

Almost tears in his eyes as he spoke. He had not counted on making friends at all, and here, the moment he set foot on the boat, was one to hand. And such a one! A perfect prince of good fellows.

"For some days," Dick continued, "I shall keep almost to this cabin. Lying down will rest me. Moreover, I am not anxious to show up to the crowd."

Again that purple flush. Masters, considerately, was not looking. Was engaged hanging up his belongings and stowing them away in the limited space at his disposal. It was work which afforded occasion for a considerable display of invention and ingenuity.

The cabin of a three thousand ton vessel, or of an Atlantic liner for that matter, offers little luxury in the way of wardrobe accommodation. Masters, though his personal luggage did not rival in extent that of Beau Brummel, yet found himself in difficulties. He turned to his companion; said:

"I shall be inside a lot too. As a matter of fact, I'm finishing a book; have a lot of writing to do. So you won't be altogether alone."

"That's jolly!"

"Lend a hand here, old fellow, will you? See if we can shove this portmanteau under."

Dick was only too glad to be of service; willingly rendered aid in the stowing away of things. Later followed suit with his own stuff. Masters was intent on keeping his companion occupied even with the smallest matters.

That was the beginning of things. The author felt that he had got the bit in his companion's mouth; that it rested with him which road was taken; depended on his skill as a rider. Still there was every care and caution to be exercised.

When you ride a young colt it is well to see that your saddle is well girt.