“He’d have won that time.” Tony shook his head, musing. “Yes, if--A losing game we play, though, in this world, isn’t it?” Again he shook his head, adding inconsequently, “One point, Miles: be happy while you’re young.” His left side brushed a corner of the bookshelf. He winced, and nursed his arm, which moved clumsily. “Lame there,” he explained, without turning. “I stumbled last night, and hit her a clip.” “On our friend’s knife?” suggested Miles. Tony whipped about with a droll face of consternation. “That fool been blabbing already?” he cried. “He can’t be out of bed yet!” Miles laughed. “Come, Tony,” he said quietly. “We must have a talk. We should have had, long before.” “You beat me!” Although Tony chuckled and flung himself into the armchair carelessly, the light in his large gray eyes twinkled hard and wary. “I’m sharp in a way, but you big, long, quiet chaps--Humph! What is it? Carry on!” Miles came readily to the point. “I was on the island last night,” he began, “saw all your squabble there, and looked into your chest afterward. So I’ll own up to eavesdropping, if you will to smuggling.” The sailor gave a short laugh, either scornful or temporizing. “What?” he asked, as though rather amused than offended. “Smuggling what?” “It doesn’t matter,” answered Miles. “That’s your affair. I don’t know, and don’t want to. If it’s to go on--” He faltered, but spoke warmly, remembering the quarrel and Tony’s outburst of generous anger. “One thing certain. If it’s to go on--I like you better than ever, Tony, but--you can’t keep this house for headquarters.” In high good humor, Tony rapped out an oath and hammered the arm of his chair. “You’re the sort,” he laughed, his teeth flashing white, his eyes brimming with jovial admiration. “Might have known how you’d take it. By the Lord, there’s no tattle-tale blood in you! You’ll do, buster! Chuck me out, but stay friends. That the idea? Right you are! And devilish sorry I’ll be to go.” By one of his sudden changes, his face, without darkening, fell entirely serious. “Do you know, I never saw before--” He pointed his pipe-stem up at the sombre canvas above the mantel. “The old Commander there--he looks ready to reef, steer, crack a man’s head, or fire a broadside. Good old days, those. Never saw before you looked so much alike. But you must take more on the mother’s side.” “Maybe,” replied Miles, wondering. Tony studied them by turns,--the bold, severe face of Hardy’s captain in the picture, the living face below. “Head o’ the family,” he said at last. “Must be damned odd. All _my_ life, now--If I hadn’t run loose--Strict ideas, strict ideas! Well, what’s the odds? I was only going to say, Miles, you’ve grown up. This last week--that’s it: you’ve grown up.” He rose, with an air of dejection. “You’re right, too, old chap. I understand. I must clear out.” “We’ll miss you, Tony,” Miles began.