Surely, I thought he would remember now that he had served in two galleys at least--in a three-decked Greek one under the black-haired “political man,” and again in a Viking’s open sea-serpent under the man “red as a red bear” who went to Markland. The devil prompted me to speak. “Why, ‘of course,’ Charlie?” said I. “I don’t know. Are you making fun of me?” The current was broken for the time being. I took up a notebook and pretended to make many entries in it. “It’s a pleasure to work with an imaginative chap like yourself,” I said after a pause. “The way that you’ve brought out the character of the hero is simply wonderful.” “Do you think so?” he answered, with a pleased flush. “I often tell myself that there’s more in me than my mo--than people think.” “There’s an enormous amount in you.” “Then, won’t you let me send an essay on The Ways of Bank Clerks to Tit-Bits, and get the guinea prize?” “That wasn’t exactly what I meant, old fellow: perhaps it would be better to wait a little and go ahead with the galley-story.” “Ah, but I sha’n’t get the credit of that. ‘Tit-Bits’ would publish my name and address if I win. What are you grinning at? They _would_.” “I know it. Suppose you go for a walk. I want to look through my notes about our story.” Now this reprehensible youth who left me, a little hurt and put back, might for aught he or I knew have been one of the crew of the Argo--had been certainly slave or comrade to Thorfin Karlsefne. Therefore he was deeply interested in guinea competitions. Remembering what Grish Chunder had said I laughed aloud. The Lords of Life and Death would never allow Charlie Mears to speak with full knowledge of his pasts, and I must even piece out what he had told me with my own poor inventions while Charlie wrote of the ways of bank-clerks.