THE CARGO SHE? 2J

It made Younger think of yellow fever at Kano.
In the smoking-room that night, the first night of his
new sobriety, he said that he thought death was a
great adventure. But life, Phil said, was a great
adventure too. Science was making great strides these
days; you never knew; though of course Wells and
Jules Verne had foreseen it all; what wonderful
prophets they were. He said, "I thought Hannen
Swaffer was a prophet too once, but he let me down."

"Isn't Hannen Swaffer a woman?" Younger said.

"No, he's a man."

"Are you sure?" Younger said. But Phil was sure.
He'd seen him. He had even spoken to him one night
when he came up to address their literary club. It
was a change from bridge, that dub; they got really
famous writers to talk to them. Chesterton had been
and Cecil Roberts. Then he went out to look at the
moon, leaning over the side, waiting in vain for my
cousin or the other woman on board to join him. If
one did, he put his arm round her and talked about
Wallasey or his wife or League results. He was only
formally romantic; he had a great respect for women.
He was really far more at home with Younger, looked
after Younger when he was drunk, protected him,
undressed him if necessary; when Younger became
sober he was rather lost, looked at the moon more
often, padding round the deck earnestly romantic,
irritable because no one would play at tropic nights
with him, disappearing at last into the little wireless
room to talk about football to "Sparks'. One night his
vitality which had no outlet overcame him and he
began to throw glasses overboard.