Harry (Alone; picks up shawl absently, and, looking at it spread out in his hands, pronounces slowly).  A—­dam’—­silly—­scrape. (Pause.  Throws shawl on arm.  Strolls up and down.  Mutters.) No money to get back. (Louder.) Silly little Ginger’ll think I’ve got hold of the pieces and given an old shipmate the go by.  One good shove—­(Makes motion of bursting in door with his shoulders)—­would burst that door in—­I bet. (Looks about.) I wonder where the nearest bobby is!  No.  They would want to bundle me neck and crop into chokey. (Shudders.) Perhaps.  It makes me dog sick to think of being locked up.  Haven’t got the nerve.  Not for prison. (Leans against lamp-post.) And not a cent for my fare.  I wonder if that girl now...

Bessie (Coming hastily forward, plate with bread and meat in hand).  I didn’t take time to get anything else....

Harry (Begins to eat).  You’re not standing treat to a beggar.  My dad is a rich man—­you know.

Bessie (Plate in hand).  You resemble your father.

Harry.  I was the very image of him in face from a boy—­(Eats)—­and that’s about as far as it goes.  He was always one of your domestic characters.  He looked sick when he had to go to sea for a fortnight’s trip. (Laughs.) He was all for house and home.

Bessie.  And you?  Have you never wished for a home? (Goes off with empty plate and puts it down hastily on Carvil’s bench—­out of sight.)

Harry (Left in front).  Home!  If I found myself shut up in what the old man calls a home, I would kick it down about my ears on the third day—­or else go to bed and die before the week was out.  Die in a house—­ough!

Bessie (Returning; stops and speaks from garden railing).  And where is it that you would wish to die?

Harry.  In the bush, in the sea, on some blamed mountain-top for choice.  No such luck, tho’, I suppose.

Bessie (From distance).  Would that be luck?  Harry.  Yes!  For them that make the whole world their home.

Bessie (Comes forward shyly).  The world’s a cold home—­they say.

Harry (A little gloomy).  So it is.  When a man’s done for.

Bessie.  You see! (Taunting).  And a ship’s not so very big after all.

Harry.  No.  But the sea is great.  And then what of the ship!  You love her and leave her, Miss—­Bessie’s your name—­isn’t it?...  I like that name.

Bessie.  You like my name!  I wonder you remembered it....  That’s why, I suppose.

Harry (Slight swagger in voice).  What’s the odds!  As long as a fellow has lived.  And a voyage isn’t a marriage—­as we sailors say.

Bessie.  So you’re not married—­(Movement of Harry)—­to any ship.

Harry (Soft laugh).  Ship!  I’ve loved and left more of them than I can remember.  I’ve been nearly everything you can think of but a tinker or a soldier; I’ve been a boundary rider; I’ve sheared sheep and humped my swag and harpooned a whale; I’ve rigged ships and skinned dead bullocks and prospected for gold—­and turned my back on more money than the old man would have scraped together in his whole life.