THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
"Might as well. Not a soul on board will believe you weren't off on a bender."
"Let 'em believe."
"Well, one thing is certain—you need a guardian."
"Maybe I've got one."
"Sure enough—Irish luck. You're a wonder. I know this part of the world. Not one man in a thousand would have got out of that hole."
"I had to get out," said William, gravely.
"Tell me the whole adventure."
William was agreeable. It was all a huge joke to him, of the kind he took a good deal of pleasure in telling. "But that Arab kid!" he concluded, tenderly rubbing his head. "I wish you could have seen his fiz. Mrs. Sphinx was his grandmother, take it from me."
"You won't split a bottle?"
"Nope. I take my Catawbas with the skins on."
"That reminds me. A man doesn't like to refer to those lapses where he behaves like a fool. You played the Good Samaritan that night in Brindisi. Thanks. Grogan, the truth is, I travel to keep away from New York. There I'm lost: too many friends. When I'm at sea I get away from it all and kind of get a grip on life again. You understand?"
"Sure. And so I won't drink with you. There's nothing to it."
"Nothing in this wide world," Camden agreed, staring at the floor.
It was at Aden. Camden was leaving the Ajax
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