The boat was swinging into the slip.  Already a crowd was moving down upon them.

“That’s why I spoke to you.  A man who’s been through hell is like a field freshly broken to the plow.  He’s ready for seed.”

Fred cast an ironical glance at the man before him.  “And you, I suppose, are the sower,” he said, mockingly.  “A parson?”

The other laughed, disclosing greenish teeth.  “Of a sort...  Perhaps high priest would be nearer the truth.  There’s a certain purposeful cruelty about that term which appeals to me.  I’m a bit of a fanatic, you know...  But I like to get my recruits when they’re bleeding raw.  I like them when the salt of truth can sting deep...  Wounds heal so quickly ... so disgustingly quickly.”

He spat contemptuously and began to cram a blackened pipe to overflowing.  The boat had landed and already the crowd was moving up the apron.  Fred and his companion felt themselves urged forward by the pressure of this human tide.

“Come and have some coffee with me,” Fred heard the man at his side say in a half-commanding tone.  “My name is Storch.  What shall I call you?”

“Anything you like!” Fred snapped, viciously.

The other laughed.  “You’re in capital form!  Upon my word we’ll get on famously together.”  And he spat again, this time with satisfaction and rare good humor.

Fred Starratt looked up.  They had emerged suddenly from the uncertain twilight of a stone-flanked corridor into a harsh blue-white flood of electricity.  A confused babble of noises fell upon his ears.  He put out his hand instinctively and clutched the arm of the man at his side.

“Yes ... yes...” the voice of his companion broke in, reassuringly.  “You’re all right.  In a moment ... after you’ve had coffee things will...”

He clutched again and presently, like a drowning man borne upon the waves by a superior force, he felt himself guided through a maze of confusing details, into swift and certain safety.

* * * * *

The coffee house into which Fred Starratt had been led by Storch was choked with men and the thick odor of coffee and fried ham.  To a man who had eaten sparingly for days the smell of food was nauseating.  Storch ordered coffee for himself and a bowl of soup for Fred. This last was a good choice in spite of the fact that for a moment Fred felt instinctive rebellion.  These pale, watery messes were too suggestive of Fairview.  But in the end the warm fluid dissipated his weakness and he began to experience a normal hunger.

Storch finished his cup of coffee and wiped a dark-brown ooze from his upper lip with a paper napkin.

“Better take a slice of bread or two,” he advised Fred, “and then call it quits.  You’ll feel better in the long run.  A starved stomach shouldn’t be surprised with too much food.”

Fred obeyed.  He could see that this man understood many things.