"Yes--oh, yes. But I didn't want it. I was--too miserable." The blue eyes blinked rapidly under his look as if half-afraid of him.

"You little a.s.s!" said Saltash in a voice that somehow rea.s.sured. "Sit down there! Curl up if you like, and don't move till I come back!"

He indicated the sofa, and quite gently but with decision freed his arm from the nervously gripping hands.

"You won't send me back?" the boy urged with quivering supplication.

"No, I won't do that," said Saltash as he went away.

He swore once or twice with considerable energy ere he returned, cursing the absent Antonio in language that would have outmatched the Italian's own. Then, having relieved his feelings, he abruptly laughed to himself and pursued his errand with business-like briskness.

Returning, he found his _protege_ in a small heap on the sofa, with his head deep in the cushion as though he sought escape from the light. Again the feeling of harbouring some small animal in pain came to him, and he frowned. The mute misery of that huddled form held a more poignant appeal than any words.

"Look here,--Toby!" he said. "I've brought you something to eat, and when you've had it you'd better get a sleep. You can tell me all about it--if you want to--in the morning."

The boy started upright at his coming. He looked at Saltash in his quick, startled way. It was almost as if he expected a kick at any moment. Then he looked at the tray he carried and suddenly his face crumpled; he hid it in his hands.

"Oh, dash it!" said Saltash. "Let's have a little sense!"

He set down the tray and flicked the fair head admonishingly, with his thumb, still frowning. "Come! Be a sport!" he said.

After a brief pause with a tremendous effort the boy pulled himself together and sat up, but he did not raise his eyes to Saltash again. He kept them fixed upon his hands which were tightly clasped in front of him.

"I'll do--whatever you tell me," he said, in a low voice. "No one has ever been so--decent to me before."

"Have one of those rolls!" said Saltash practically. "You'll talk better with something inside you."

He seated himself on the edge of his bunk and lit another cigarette, his att.i.tude one of royal indifference, but his odd eyes flashing to and fro with a monkey-like shrewdness that missed nothing of his desolate companion's forlorn state.

"You've been doing this starvation business for some time, haven't you?"

he asked presently. "No wonder you didn't feel like work."

The boy's pinched face smiled, a small wistful smile. "I can work," he said. "I can do anything--women's work as well as men's. I can cook and clean boots and knives and sew on b.u.t.tons and iron trousers and wash shirts and wait on tables and make beds and sweep and--"

"For heaven's sake, stop!" said Saltash. "You make me giddy. Tell me the things you can't do instead! It would take less time."

Toby considered for a few moments. "I can't drive cars," he said at length. "But I can clean 'em, and I'd love to learn."

Saltash laughed. "That's the sole exception, is it? You seem to have picked up a good deal in a short time. Did they teach you all that over there?"

Toby shook his head. "I've knocked about a good lot," he said.

"And know everything evidently," said Saltash. "What made you think of coming on board this yacht?"

The boy's eyes gave him a shining look. "Because she belongs to you," he said.

"Oh!" Saltash puffed at his cigarette for a few seconds. "You'd made up your mind to throw in your fortunes with mine, had you?"

Toby nodded. "I wanted to--if you'd have me."

"Seems I haven't much choice," remarked Saltash. "And what are you going to do when you're tired of me? Fling yourself at someone else's head, I suppose?"

Again he saw the hot colour flood the thin face, but the boyish eyes did not flinch from his. "No, I shan't do that," said Toby, after brief reflection. "I'll just go right under next time."

"Oh, will you?" said Saltash. "And so remain--a blot on my escutcheon for all time. Well now, look here! You say you're honest?"

"Yes, sir," said Toby with breathless a.s.surance, and sprang up and stood before him with the words, as though challenging criticism.

Saltash poked at him with his foot, as he sat. "Make me a promise?" he asked casually.

"Anything you wish, my lord," said Toby promptly.

Saltash grinned at him. "Be careful! I see you are of a rash and impulsive disposition, and I like my slaves to have a little discretion.

The promise I want is that whatever happens to you,--however much I kick you or bash you or generally ill-use you--you'll never jump overboard or do anything silly of that kind. Is it done?"

Toby was standing before him, facing him with straight, candid eyes. He did not seem surprised at the suggestion so coolly made. Saltash noted that it certainly did not shock him.

"All right, sir," he said, after a moment.

"It's a promise, is it?" said Saltash.

Toby nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good!" said Saltash. He stretched out a hand and took him by one skinny arm. "Better now?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord." Toby's eyes smiling into his.

"Very well. I'll keep you," Saltash said. "Did anyone see you come aboard?"

"No, my lord."

"Then you came with me, see? I brought you--if anyone wants to know."

"Very good, my lord. Thank you, my lord."

Saltash made a humorous grimace. "You can call me 'sir' if you like," he said. "It makes no difference."

"Thank you, sir," said Toby with a responsive grin.

"And your name is Toby, is it? Toby what?"

"Toby Wright, sir." Very promptly the answer came.

Saltash's eyes scrutinized him with half derisive amus.e.m.e.nt. "I hope it's a good fit," he remarked. "Well, look here, Toby, you must go to bed. Did you bring any luggage on board?"

"No, sir. 'Fraid not, sir. Very sorry, sir. I came away in a hurry,"

explained Toby rather nervously.