CHAPTER XXIII
WEEK-ENDING IN PARADISE
It was a strange setting to Ben after that of the year past. Heavy ship's timbers overhead; a civilized seat supporting him; real crockery, knives and forks and a steaming breakfast from the galley-stove; the grace Sally always insisted on, even on shipboard; and kindly voices saying, "Come fill up your plate Ben," "Please pass that," and all the familiar expressions of daily human intercourse.
It seemed as if ages had passed since, in some long for gotten existence, he had felt the exhilaration of a ship's rise and fall on the water, heard the shuffle of feet on deck, and the ring of ship's bells. And all the while, above the rough seafaring talk of the men beside him, rose the voice of the girl like a melody feathering their full-throated chorus.
"Sliced bacon, fried spuds, and hot coffee, look pretty poor, I'll bet—eh Ben?"
"They look good to me, Captain Harve, and especially this briar-pipe and real matches," he replied, just a little wistfully. How odd and yet how homelike the colloquialisms sounded after the long silences! How easily his own lips fell into them! And how good was human companionship, the sharing of confidences, especially with the one whom he cared for more than all else in the world!
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