“Oh, some of the men got wet. But no bones broke. Henry’ll be laid off for a day. He got turned over in a sea and bashed his head. And Shorty’s got a wrenched shoulder, I think.—But, say, we got Davis into the top bunk! The seas filled him full and he had to climb for it. He’s all awash and wet now, and you oughta seen me praying for more.” He paused and sighed. “I’m getting old, I guess. I oughta wring his neck, but somehow I ain’t got the gumption. Just the same, he’ll be overside before we get in.” “A month’s wages against a pound of tobacco he won’t,” I challenged. “No,” said Mr. Pike slowly. “But I’ll tell you what I will do. I’ll bet you a pound of tobacco even, or a month’s wages even, that I’ll have the pleasure of putting a sack of coal to his feet that never will come off.” “Done,” said I. “Done,” said Mr. Pike. “And now I guess I’ll get a bite to eat.” CHAPTER XXXI. The more I see of Miss West the more she pleases me. Explain it in terms of propinquity, or isolation, or whatever you will; I, at least, do not attempt explanation. I know only that she is a woman and desirable. And I am rather proud, in a way, to find that I am just a man like any man. The midnight oil, and the relentless pursuit I have endured in the past from the whole tribe of women, have not, I am glad to say, utterly spoiled me. I am obsessed by that phrase—a _woman and desirable_. It beats in my brain, in my thought. I go out of my way to steal a glimpse of Miss West through a cabin door or vista of hall when she does not know I am looking. A woman is a wonderful thing. A woman’s hair is wonderful. A woman’s softness is a magic.—Oh, I know them for what they are, and yet this very knowledge makes them only the more wonderful. I know—I would stake my soul—that Miss West has considered me as a mate a thousand times to once that I have so considered her. And yet—she is a woman and desirable. And I find myself continually reminded of Richard Le Gallienne’s inimitable quatrain: “Were I a woman, I would all day long Sing my own beauty in some holy song, Bend low before it, hushed and half afraid, And say ‘I am a woman’ all day long.” Let me advise all philosophers suffering from world-sickness to take a long sea voyage with a woman like Miss West.