A slight tremor went through Toby. He set down the decanter and stepped back. "Of me, sir?" he said. Saltash nodded again. He was fingering the stem of his glass, his queer eyes dancing a little. "We've got to make a respectable citizen of you--somehow," he said. "Do you think that matters, sir?" said Toby. Saltash raised his glass. "You won't always be a boy of sixteen, you know, Toby," he said lightly. "We've got to think of the future--whether we want to or not." "I don't see why, sir," said Toby. "You see, you're young," said Saltash, and drank with the air of one who drinks a toast. Suddenly he turned in his chair, the glass still in his hand. "Our last night on board!" he said, with a royal gesture of invitation. "You shall drink with me." Toby's face flushed burningly. He hung back. "Not--not--from your glass, sir!" he said. "Not--liqueur!" "Why not? Afraid?" mocked Saltash. Toby was silent. His hand closed involuntarily upon the back of his master's chair. The flush died out of his face. Saltash sat and looked at him for a few seconds, still with that dancing gleam in his eyes. Then abruptly he moved, rose with one knee upon the chair, lifted the glass to Toby's lips. "Afraid?" he said again, speaking softly as one speaks to a frightened child. Toby raised a hand that sought to take the glass but closed instead nervously upon Saltash's wrist. He drank in response to Saltash's unspoken insistence, looking straight at him the while. Then oddly he smiled. "No, not afraid, sir," he said. "Only--lest I might not bring you luck." "Oh, don't fret yourself on that account!" said Saltash. "I'm not used to any luck." Toby's eyes widened. "I thought you had--everything, sir," he said. Saltash laughed and set down the empty glass. "_Au contraire, mon cher_," he said. "I am no richer than you are. Like Tantalus, I can never quench my thirst. Like many a better man than I, I see the stars, but I never reach them." "Does anybody?" said Toby in the tone of one not expecting an answer. Saltash laughed briefly, enigmatically. "I believe some people soar. But they generally come down hard in the end. Whereas those who always crawl on the earth haven't far to fall. Now look here, Toby, you and I have got to have a talk." "Yes, sir," said Toby, blinking rather rapidly. Saltash was watching him with a faint smile in his eyes, half-derisive and half-tender. "What are you going to be, Toby?" he said. "It all turns on that." Toby's hand still gripped the back of his chair. He stood up very straight, facing him. "That is for you to decide, sir," he said. "Is it?" said Saltash, and again his eyes gleamed a little. "Is it for me to decide?" "Yes, sir. For you alone." There was no flinching in Toby's look now. His eyes were wide and very steady. Saltash's mouth twitched as if he repressed some passing emotion. "You mean--just that?" he asked, after a moment.