"You needn't be," said Peter; "I'm very glad I went." "Why?" said Pennell curiously, glancing sideways at him. "You _are_ a queer fellow, Graham." But there was a note of relief in his tone. Peter said nothing, but walked on. "Where next?" demanded Pennell. "It looks as if you are directing this outfit," said Peter; "I'm in your hands." "All right," said Pennell; "I know." They took a street running parallel to the docks, and entered an American bar. Peter glanced round curiously. "I've never been here before," he said. "Probably not," said Pennell. "It's not much at this time of the year, but jolly cool in the summer. And you can get first-class cocktails. I want something now; what's yours?" "I'll leave it to you," said Peter. He sat down at a little table rather in the corner and lit a cigarette. The place was well lighted, and by means of mirrors, coloured-glass ornaments, paper decorations, and a few palms, it looked in its own way smart. Two or three officers were drinking at the bar, sitting on high stools, and Pennell went up to give his order. He brought two glasses to Peter's table and sat down. "What fools we are, padre!" he said. "I sometimes think that the man who gets simply and definitely tight when he feels he wants a breather is wiser than most of us. We drink till we're excited, and then we drink to get over it. And I suppose the devil sits and grins. Well, it's a weary world, and there isn't any good road out of it. I sometimes wish I'd stopped a bullet earlier on in the day. And yet I don't know. We do get some excitement. Let's go to a music-hall to-night." "What about dinner?" "Oh, get a quiet one in a decent hotel. I'll have to clear out at half-time if you don't mind." "Not a bit," said Peter. "Half will be enough for me, I think. But let's have dinner before we've had more of these things." The bar was filling up. A few girls came and went. Pennell nodded to a man or two, and finished his glass. And they went off to dinner.