He fetched his precious bottle of Sherwood and poured a minim dose. The golden drug saluted him gently. In this fluid too the flagrant miracle lay hidden, the privy atom of truth and fury. The guest of honour, he thought ironically, feeling his vitals play host to that courteous warmth. The guest of honour, always expelled. A spark falls into your soul. Shall you cherish it, shelter it to clear consuming flame; or shall you hurry to stamp it out? Can a man take fire in his bosom and his clothes not be burned? The smell of burning cloth is mighty disagreeable. Vacantly he studied the label on the bottle. _Manufactured prior to Jan. 17, 1920. These spirits were tax paid at the non-beverage rate_ FOR MEDICINAL PURPOSES ONLY. _Sale or use for other purposes will subject the seller or user to very heavy penalties._ Well, certainly this is a Medicinal Use, he thought. “If ever a seaman wanted drugs, it’s me.” Where did the phrase come from?... Yes, old Billy Bones, in _Treasure Island_. Well, these foolishnesses would have blown over by to-morrow. Do a little work on the booklet and then turn in. He must get the thing done, earn some money. The gruesome burden of expenses. How little Phyllis realizes the load a man’s mind carries. I suppose she carries one too, poor child. Every mind carries the weight of the whole world. He was on hands and knees, picking up the scraps of crust that had fallen under the boiler. In a luxurious self-pity he found himself humming a hymn tune. Blessed solitude, where a man can sing to himself and admire the sweet sorrow of his own cadence! An almost forgotten poem came into his head and fitted pleasantly to the air. _The Silver Girl she came to me when spring was dancing green, She said, “I’ve come to wait on you and keep your cabin clean; To wash your face and hands and feet, and make your forehead cool-- I’ll get you into Heaven yet, you Damned Old Fool!”_ Something in this appealed nicely to his mood. He allowed himself an encore. His voice, rising behind the stove, got a good resonance. Then he heard a footfall, a door opening. Ah, he thought, Phyl has come down to say she’s sorry for being so crude. Well, I’ll let her speak first. I’m tired of always being the one to make advances. He waited, industriously gathering crusts, though he felt that the posture of Lazarus was not advantageous. There was no word. “Well,” he said impatiently, “have you had enough of your funny business?” He turned, and saw Nounou’s amazed face in the aperture of the back door. With an incoherent murmur he rose, took his bottle, and stalked out of the kitchen. XVIII