sink,’ says I. He gave a big jump. ‘Good-bye,’
he says, nodding at me like a lord; ’you ain’t
half a bad chap, Egstrom. I give you my word
that if you knew my reasons you wouldn’t care
to keep me.’ ’That’s the biggest
lie you ever told in your life,’ says I; ‘I
know my own mind.’ He made me so mad that
I had to laugh. ’Can’t you really
stop long enough to drink this glass of beer here,
you funny beggar, you?’ I don’t know what
came over him; he didn’t seem able to find the
door; something comical, I can tell you, captain.
I drank the beer myself. ’Well, if you’re
in such a hurry, here’s luck to you in your
own drink,’ says I; ’only, you mark my
words, if you keep up this game you’ll very
soon find that the earth ain’t big enough to
hold you—that’s all.’ He
gave me one black look, and out he rushed with a face
fit to scare little children.”
’Egstrom snorted bitterly, and combed one auburn
whisker with knotty fingers. “Haven’t
been able to get a man that was any good since.
It’s nothing but worry, worry, worry in business.
And where might you have come across him, captain,
if it’s fair to ask?”
’"He was the mate of the Patna that voyage,”
I said, feeling that I owed some explanation.
For a time Egstrom remained very still, with his fingers
plunged in the hair at the side of his face, and then
exploded. “And who the devil cares about
that?” “I daresay no one,” I began
. . . “And what the devil is he—anyhow—for
to go on like this?” He stuffed suddenly his
left whisker into his mouth and stood amazed.
“Jee!” he exclaimed, “I told him
the earth wouldn’t be big enough to hold his
caper."’
’I have told you these two episodes at length
to show his manner of dealing with himself under the
new conditions of his life. There were many others
of the sort, more than I could count on the fingers
of my two hands. They were all equally tinged
by a high-minded absurdity of intention which made
their futility profound and touching. To fling
away your daily bread so as to get your hands free
for a grapple with a ghost may be an act of prosaic
heroism. Men had done it before (though we who
have lived know full well that it is not the haunted
soul but the hungry body that makes an outcast), and
men who had eaten and meant to eat every day had applauded
the creditable folly. He was indeed unfortunate,
for all his recklessness could not carry him out from
under the shadow. There was always a doubt of
his courage. The truth seems to be that it is
impossible to lay the ghost of a fact. You can
face it or shirk it—and I have come across
a man or two who could wink at their familiar shades.
Obviously Jim was not of the winking sort; but what
I could never make up my mind about was whether his
line of conduct amounted to shirking his ghost or
to facing him out.
