'I wisht there was a parson here,' muttered the man in the bunk. 'There used to be a old chap that come regular to the Sailors' Home--gray whiskers, he had, an' a long coat--I wisht he was here. He'd tell me.' The man on the chest listened, his elbows on his knees, his head on his hands. 'I shook hands with him many a time,' continued Bill. 'He'd tell me--' Jansen started, and looked up. His bright, deep-set eyes had taken on a look intent, glowing. 'Shall I read to ye a bit?' he asked. 'I've got a book--it might strike ye--now.' 'All right,' said Bill indifferently. The old man crossed the forecastle, opened his chest, and, delving deep into its contents, brought forth a small, thin book. It had seen much usage; the binding was broken, the leaves were stained and torn. The old man handled it tenderly. He held it high before him that the light from the swinging lantern might fall upon the text, and read stumblingly, pausing when the light swung too far from him, and making grotesque blunders over some of the long words. 'What is that book?' asked Bill after a time. 'It ain't the Bible?' 'No,' said Jansen. 'It ain't the Bible.' 'Then who is it says them things?' demanded Bill. 'He talks like he was Everything.' Jansen lowered the book. 'I don't exactly understand what they call him,' he answered, 'they give him so many names. But I reckon nobody but God talks like that, whatever they call him.' 'Where did you get it? the book, I mean,' persisted Bill. 'I was cleanin' out a passenger's cabin, two voyages back, an' I found it under the bunk. I've been readin' it ever since. It's all full o' strange, forrin names, worse 'n the ones in the Bible.' 'Well, neither of 'em stands to help me much,' commented Bill. 'I ain't never been good. I've been a sailor-man. That book'--he broke off to groan as the ship rolled heavily, but resumed--'that book says same as the Bible, that a man's got to be pious an' do good an' have faith, an' all that, else he don't have no show at all.' 'Listen!' said Jansen. He turned the pages, and read a few lines as impressively as he could. 'That sounds easy,' said Bill. 'But I ought to ha' knowed about that before. It's no good desirin' anything now. It's too late. He'd know I was doin' it just to save my own skin--my soul, I mean.' 'Bill,' said Jansen. 'I'm goin' to ask you something.' He closed the little book over one finger, and leaned toward the bunk. 'Do you remember how you come to be hurted this way?' 'The spare spar that was lashed to starboard fetched loose, an' I tried to stop it,' answered Bill readily. 'I see it comin'.' 'Why did you try to stop it?' 'Well, a big sea had just washed the Old Man down in the lee scuppers, an' if the spar had struck him it would ha' killed him.' 'It's killed you, Bill,' said Jansen. 'Didn't you think o' that?' 'Me!' exclaimed Bill scornfully. 'Who's me?' 'But why did you want to save his life?' insisted Jansen.