the best policy for the present was one of inaction and indifference. He set the rice-bowl on the floor, leaned back, and began whistling a tune. Chun Lon seemed slightly annoyed, though it was difficult to read anything in his expressionless face.
Alan turned suddenly on Mark.
"Can't you whistle anything but that?" he asked sharply,
"The Bowline Haul" stopped abruptly.
"What's the matter with you?" Mark said; "it's a perfectly good chantey, isn't it?"
"I know," Alan murmured, "but it made me think of Resthaven, all of a sudden."
Then it made Mark think of Resthaven, too; and the harbor, silvery bright between the elms through the window of his room; and of the good smell of bacon cooking; and of Jane singing loudly as she clattered downstairs to breakfast.
"'Haul on the bowlin ', the bowlin' haul . . .'"
"I wonder," Alan said, "if we'll ever see old Jane again?"
"Don't be idiotic," Mark growled. "That's like you, to moon off into the past and future. Just look right over there at the present."
