She felt she must get him talking upon some impersonal theme at any cost. She counted three on the way to the train and four more on the crowded car that would have gladly taken him to bed with not so much as a word. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. “A joke! Sir John, if you had presented yourself here an hour ago we should have greeted you in pained silence. "I won't trouble you further, Jack," he remarked. The bungalows and stores were built of heavy bamboo and gum-wood; sprawly, one-storied affairs; for the typhoon was no stranger in these waters. Mr.
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