"No more from the oracle. Only a purely personal observation. I could go
into the fighting with a sort of a titillation--an unholy joy in
fighting for its own sake, quite apart from any feeling for any cause. I
believe that that is the feeling which animates most men who volunteer
to fight. Of course they choose their side from conviction. At least, it
is to be hoped that they do. But as for the actual combat, there is a
joy in the fight--why, that alone accounts for all our games, at
bottom."
Eve was looking at me doubtfully. "But, Adam," she said slowly, "you
don't mean to--you aren't going to--"
I shook my head. "I have no such intention. Make your mind easy. I have
a dependent family. I don't know what you would do without my efforts to
support you. It would be a terrible misfortune if you were cast upon
your father's shoulders. You might starve."
Eve seemed to be amused. But Pukkie had been getting uneasy, and he
began to squirm. Then he seized my arm.
"Look, daddy. See that big schooner. I never saw her before. What is
it?"
I looked. A great white schooner was headed in, and she was almost at
the entrance of the harbor. The wind had fallen light with the approach
of the sun to his setting; the schooner had all her light sails set and
came on fast. Suddenly the light sails began to come off, slacking down,
wrinkling, and gathered in, and stowed, as a man would take off his
coat. Before one was well in another would start slacking down,
wrinkling, gathered in, and stowed, almost as fast as I tell it. That
meant a big crew well trained. All her kites were stowed, and she began
rounding into the wind, letting her jibs go as she came around. She shot
a long way, but stopped at last, and her chain rattled out, and she
began to drift astern. Then her foresail came down steadily, and before
it was down, sailors swarmed out upon the footropes of the mainboom, and
the great mainsail began to come down, slowly and steadily, gathered in
as it came by the men upon the footropes. By the time all her chain was
paid out, and she was finally at rest, all her sails were furled, and
they were getting out the covers.
A shining mahogany launch was dropped into the water, run back to the
gangway, and a girl ran lightly down the steps.
"Elizabeth Radnor," said Eve, wondering. "What can she be doing there?"
"Perhaps the owners take lessons in dancing," I suggested.
Eve smiled. "She gives lessons in swimming too," she said.
A man followed Miss Radnor. He seemed strangely familiar.
"Bobby!" cried Eve. "I think it's funny. I'm sure it's Bobby."
I was sure it was Bobby. It might be funny, but it was not strange. The
launch made for Old Goodwin's landing at forty miles an hour.