Charles Rex | Page 9

judge by appearances. I've a fancy for looking after him
myself."
"What are you going to make of him?" asked Larpent.
Saltash laughed carelessly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "I'll tell
you that when I can show you the finished article. I'm keeping him
below for the present. He's got a prize-fighter's eye which is not exactly
an ornament. Like to have a look at him? You're ship's doctor."
Larpent shrugged his shoulders. "P'raps I'd better. I'm not over-keen on
sudden importations. You never know what they may bring aboard
with them."
Saltash's eyes gleamed mischievously. "Better inoculate the whole crew
at once! He's more like a stray spaniel than anything else."

"A King Charles!" suggested Larpent, with the flicker of an eyelid.
"Well, my lord, let's have a look at your latest find!"
They went below, Saltash whistling a careless air. He was usually in
high spirits when not suffering from boredom.
Someone else was whistling in the vicinity of his cabin, but it was not
from the valet's cabin that the cheery sounds proceeded. They found
him in the bathroom with an oily rag, rubbing up the taps.
He desisted immediately at their entrance and stood smartly at attention.
His eye was badly swollen and discoloured, he looked wretchedly ill,
but he managed to smile at Saltash, who took him by the shoulder and
made him face the light.
"What are you doing in here, you--scaramouch? Didn't I tell you to lie
still? Here he is, Larpent! What do you think of him? A poor sort of
specimen, eh?"
"What's his name?" said Larpent.
"Toby Barnes, sir," supplied the boy promptly.
"And there's nothing under the sun he can't do except drive cars," put in
Saltash, "and obey orders."
Toby winced a little. "I'm sorry, sir. Only wanted to be useful, sir. I'll
go back to bed if you say so."
"What do you say, Captain?" said Saltash.
Larpent bent and looked closely at the injured eye. "The sooner the
better," he said after a brief examination. "Stay in bed for a week, and
then I'll look at you again!"
"Oh, not a week!" exclaimed Toby, aghast, and then clapped a hand to
his mouth and was silent.
But his look implored Saltash who laughed and pinched the shoulder

under his hand. "All right. We'll see how you get on. If we meet any
weather you'll probably be only too thankful to stay there."
Toby smiled somewhat woefully, and said nothing.
Larpent stood up. "I'll fetch some stuff to dress it with. Better have it
bandaged. Pretty painful, isn't it?"
"No, sir," lied Toby valiantly. "Don't feel it at all."
But he shrank with a quick gasp of pain when Larpent unexpectedly
touched the injury.
"Don't hurt the child!" said Saltash sharply.
Larpent smiled his faint, sardonic smile, and turned away.
Toby laid his cheek with a winning, boyish gesture against the hand
that held him. "Don't make me go to bed, sir!" he pleaded. "I'll be
miserable in bed."
Saltash looked down at him with eyebrows comically working. "It is
rather a hole--that cabin of yours," he conceded. "You can lie on the
couch in my stateroom if you like. Don't get up to mischief, that's all!
I'm responsible for you, remember."
Toby thanked him humbly, swearing obedience and good behaviour.
The couch in Saltash's cabin was immediately under a porthole, and the
fresh sea-air blew straight in. He stretched his meagre person upon it
with a sigh of contentment, and Saltash smiled down upon him. "That's
right. You'll do there. Let's see! What did you say your name was?"
"Toby, sir."
"Toby Barnes or Toby Wright?" said Saltash.
The boy started, turned very red, then very white, opened his mouth to
speak, shut it tightly, and said nothing.

Saltash took out his cigarette-case and opened it with great leisureliness.
The smile still played about his ugly features as he chose a cigarette.
Finally he snapped the lid and looked down again at his _protégé_.
"Or Toby nothing?" he said.
Toby's eyes came up to his, though the effort to raise them drew his
face painfully.
"Whatever you like, my lord," he said faintly. "I'll answer to anything."
Saltash's own face was curiously softened. He looked down at Toby for
some seconds in silence, idly tapping the cigarette he held against the
case. Then: "How old are you?" he asked suddenly.
"Sixteen, sir." Toby's eyes with their dumb pleading were still
anxiously raised to his.
Saltash bent abruptly and put his hand very lightly over them. "All right.
Don't hurt yourself!" he said kindly. "You're young enough to chuck
the past and start again."
Toby's claw-like hands came up and closed upon his wrist. "Wish I
could, sir," he whispered with lips that quivered. "Haven't had much of
a