Ralph Stock

“ The futility of further argument silenced Troar. With the tiller under his arm, and Mr. Ponsonby sleeping audibly in the saloon, he wondered what it was best to do. He felt little resentment at his partner's disbelief. It was to be expected. The aggravation of the situation lay in the fact that if the present course were held, they would miss the nearest land by a comfortable margin, and raise no more for at least five hundred miles, which meant they would never raise it. Yet how was it possible to convince Mr. Ponsonby of that? As well argue with an elephant. ”

“ Mr. Ponsonby stared down at his partner and shook his bullet head slowly.
"But I've proved it," protested Troar. "It's as simple as falling off a log. I've proved it, man!"
"And you want to tell me you've learnt in a few hours what takes a grown man half his life to get hold of?"
"Yes," said Troar, "if the grown man's a fool."
Mr. Ponsonby laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound, and there was a glint in his small eyes.
"Well, you don't tell me," he observed. "You come and take the tiller, and give me a spell, that's what you've got to do, kid."
"Right," said Troar. ”

“ It was coming, Troar told himself. A full realisation of his plight was dawning on this genial giant, who, within a week, and failing rain or a landfall, would be a raving madman at his partner's throat. Already he was seeing all that he had to lose, and the likelihood of losing it.
"We've got to get out of this," he muttered, staring stonily over the heaving wilderness about them. "You don't know all; I just got to——" Troar noted the change in the pronoun without the flicker of an eyelash. ”

“ Troar was startled into self-consciousness. "Isn't it more a case of his looking after me?"
The girl shook her head slowly.
"He's nothing but a kid," she said, mother-love welling in her eyes; "just a kid. It isn't all here, you know," she added, indicating the muscles of her firm, rounded arm.
"Isn't it?" Troar smiled whimsically. "I've come to think the best part of a man is, anyhow. ”

“ Can't make people take notice. Posters, press—what are they? Whisk by one while you're thinking about the missus and kids, and give the other the 'go by' for the race results; I dunno." He swung on to the edge of the bed, and sat with his massive shoulders hunched dejectedly. "Then when you don't want it—— There'll be columns about me to-morrow morning—columns!"
Troar refrained from comment, which in itself seemed to impress his companion.
"You're a queer one," he observed. "Don't know as I've met your sort before. Is there anything you do happen to care about?" ”

“ His ability to do it, in spite of Nature's violent dictates to the contrary, gave him unwonted satisfaction. For he had long since come to a definite and clear-cut resolve in relation to this partner of his. If either of them lived, it must be Mr. Ponsonby. This decision was not a matter of conscious self-sacrifice on Troar's part. It was an obvious conclusion based on the requirements of Nature, and backed by a promise given with clasped hands in a Wooloomooloo restaurant. Troar was like that. ”

“ Without a moment's hesitation the visitor dropped Troar's blankets as though they had been red-hot coals, and tip-toed gingerly from the room, his ungainly shadow lurching before him.
Mr. Ponsonby grinned.
"That's what I'm for," he pointed out with an air of quiet self-satisfaction, "and don't you forget it, kid."
Troar was not likely to. It was a quaint, rather cruel coincidence that on this night of all others his own futility should be so vividly demonstrated. Place him amongst real live men, and he was helpless. He found himself envying such a perfect animal as Mr. ”

“ Ponsonby later in the day. "Wind don't seem to shift. With this abeam we'd be doing eight, but what's the good of heading for South America? Lor', couldn't I do with a pint! Where in 'ell are we?" They were the cries of a lost child.
"Seems funny to me," he went on presently. "Those old coves with whiskers and a sextant can find out where they are, and I can't. But I can't, and that's that. The bare sight of figures is a knock-out to me...."
Troar heard no more. His partner's last utterance had lit a train of thought that blinded him to all else. It is doubtful if Mr. ”

“ During this month, and perhaps the ones on either hand, the otherwise fortunate Antipodean "down-and-out" is forced to seek the shelter of roofs such as Mr. Duggan's, which flourish like fungus in Wooloomooloo. ”

“ He was slumped back in his chair, gazing wistfully across the table. "And we was to have been married after this fight, Lil."
"What's the good of talking?" demanded the girl, cutting into her lover's reverie like cold steel. "You've got to clear. ”

“ Below them a pigmy fleet of yachts rode at their moorings, and Troar lay staring down at them, lost in reverie. Mr. Ponsonby was engaged in examining a sack that held Lil's "few things," and expatiating on the catholic nature of its contents.
"Ain't women wonderful? ”