The After House | Page 4

down the river before a
stiff breeze.
"Look at her!" I exclaimed. "There goes adventure, mystery, romance! I
should like to be sailing on her."
"You would have to boil the drinking-water," she replied dryly. "And
the ship is probably swarming with rats."
"Rats," I affirmed, "add to the local color. Ships are their native habitat.
Only sinking ships don't have them."
But her answer was to retort that rats carried bubonic plague, and to
exit, carrying the sugar-bowl. I was ravenous, as are all convalescent
typhoids, and one of the ways in which I eked out my still slender diet

was by robbing the sugar-bowl at meals.
That day, I think it was, the deck furniture was put out on the Ella -
numbers of white wicker chairs and tables, with bright cushions to
match the awnings. I had a pair of ancient opera-glasses, as obsolete as
my amputating knives, and, like them, a part of my heritage. By that
time I felt a proprietary interest in the Ella, and through my glasses,
carefully focused with a pair of scissors, watched the arrangement of
the deck furnishings. A girl was directing the men. I judged, from the
poise with which she carried herself, that she was attractive - and knew
it. How beautiful she was, and how well she knew it, I was to find out
before long. McWhirter to the contrary, she had nothing to do with my
decision to sign as a sailor on the Ella.
One of the bright spots of that long hot summer was McWhirter. We
had graduated together in June, and in October he was to enter a
hospital in Buffalo as a resident. But he was as indigent as I, and from
June to October is four months.
"Four months," he said to me. "Even at two meals a day, boy, that's
something over two hundred and forty. And I can eat four times a day,
without a struggle! Wouldn't you think one of these
overworked-for-the-good-of-humanity dubs would take a vacation and
give me a chance to hold down his practice?"
Nothing of the sort developing, McWhirter went into a drug-store, and
managed to pull through the summer with unimpaired cheerfulness,
confiding to me that he secured his luncheons free at the soda counter.
He came frequently to see me, bringing always a pocketful of chewing
gum, which he assured me was excellent to allay the gnawings of
hunger, and later, as my condition warranted it, small bags of
gum-drops and other pharmacy confections.
McWhirter it was who got me my berth on the Ella. It must have been
about the 20th of July, for the Ella sailed on the 28th. I was strong
enough to leave the hospital, but not yet physically able for any
prolonged exertion. McWhirter, who was short and stout, had been
alternately flirting with the nurse, as she moved in and out preparing

my room for the night, and sizing me up through narrowed eyes.
"No," he said, evidently following a private line of thought; "you don't
belong behind a counter, Leslie. I'm darned if I think you belong in the
medical profession, either. The British army'd suit you."
"The - what?"
"You know - Kipling idea - riding horseback, head of a column -
undress uniform - colonel's wife making eyes at you - leading last
hopes and all that."
"The British army with Kipling trimmings being out of the question,
the original issue is still before us. I'll have to work, Mac, and work like
the devil, if I'm to feed myself."
There being no answer to this, McWhirter contented himself with
eyeing me.
"I'm thinking," I said, "of going to Europe. The sea is calling me, Mac."
"So was the grave a month ago, but it didn't get you. Don't be an ass,
boy. How are you going to sea?"
"Before the mast." This apparently conveying no meaning to
McWhirter, I supplemented - "as a common sailor."
He was indignant at first, offering me his room and a part of his small
salary until I got my strength; then he became dubious; and finally, so
well did I paint my picture of long, idle days on the ocean, of sweet,
cool nights under the stars, with breezes that purred through the sails,
rocking the ship to slumber - finally he waxed enthusiastic, and was
even for giving up the pharmacy at once and sailing with me.
He had been fitting out the storeroom of a sailing-yacht with drugs, he
informed me, and doing it under the personal direction of the owner's
wife.
"I've made a hit with her," he confided. "Since she's learned I'm a

graduate M.D., she's letting me do the whole thing. I've made up some
lotions to prevent sunburn, and that seasick prescription of