The deferential tone belonged to the mentor of his youth, yet the speech itself seemed to owe little to Eton College. "No, thank you," said Miss Burton. "I'm not hungry." And then, seeing his look of embarrassment, "Now get on with it. Don't mind me." This was a woman of the world. She was a ripe student of human nature, at least of the trousers-wearing section of human nature. Not for many a day had she been so taken by a specimen of an always remarkable genus as by this boy with the deep eyes, whose clothes and speech and behavior were like nothing on earth. A true amateur of the male sex, she watched this quaint specimen eating bread and cheese. Presently he raised his tankard aloft, said, "Good 'ealth, lady," in a shy manner, and drank half of it at a gulp. "When are you going to sea again?" asked Miss Burton, conversationally. "Never going to sea no more," said the young man, with a strange look in his eyes. "What--never?" She seemed surprised. "Never no more. I'll never sail agen afore the mast. I'd sooner starve. It's--it's----" "It's what?" "It's hell, lady." Miss Burton was taken aback by the tone of conviction. After all, this grotesque young sea monster was no true amphibian. "Well, what are you going to do ashore?" she asked after a pause, while she gazed at him in astonishment. "Dunno." "No plans?" The boy shook his head. "Like another tankard of mild?" "Yes, please, lady." The impact of the bar-lady's easy and familiar style had caused a rather sharp relapse from the Klondyke standard of refinement, but not for a moment did the Sailor forget the dignity of her estate. In spite of the hybrid words he used, the note of subtle deference was never out of his voice; and Miss Burton, unconsciously intrigued by it, became even more interested in this strange product of the high seas. "How long have you been afloat?" She handed him a second tankard of mild. "Near six year." "Six years. Gracious goodness! And you didn't like it?" "No." For some reason, the look in his eyes caused her to shiver a little. "Why did you stick it, then?" "Dunno." A pause followed. Then he lifted his tankard again, said, "'Ere's lookin', lady," and drank it right off. "Well, you are a rum one, you are, and no mistake," murmured Miss Burton, not to the Sailor, but to the beer engine at her side. II After the young man from the sea had drunk his second tankard of mild, he sat on the high stool silent and embarrassed. He was hoping that the gorgeous creature opposite would continue the conversation, but he didn't seem to know how to encourage her. However, as soon as a powerful feminine intelligence had told her the state of the case, she said abruptly, "Well, and what are you going to do for a living now you've retired from the sea?" He gave his head a wistful shake. The gesture, rather pathetic in its hopelessness, touched Miss Burton. "Well, you can't live on air, you know." "No, lady."