The distressed and worried landlady gave Barrow a fervently grateful look for his championship of the abused stranger; and the pet of the house, a very prism in her cheap but ravishing Sunday rig, blew him a kiss from the tips of her fingers and said, with the darlingest smile and a sweet little toss of her head: 

“You’re the only man here, and I’m going to set my cap for you, you dear old thing!”

“For shame, Puss!  How you talk!  I never saw such a child!”

It took a good deal of argument and persuasion—­that is to say, petting, under these disguises—­to get Tracy to entertain the idea of breakfast.  He at first said he would never eat again in that house; and added that he had enough firmness of character, he trusted, to enable him to starve like a man when the alternative was to eat insult with his bread.

When he had finished his breakfast, Barrow took him to his room, furnished him a pipe, and said cheerily: 

“Now, old fellow, take in your battle-flag out of the wet, you’re not in the hostile camp any more.  You’re a little upset by your troubles, and that’s natural enough, but don’t let your mind run on them anymore than you can help; drag your thoughts away from your troubles by the ears, by the heels, or any other way, so you manage it; it’s the healthiest thing a body can do; dwelling on troubles is deadly, just deadly—­and that’s the softest name there is for it.  You must keep your mind amused—­you must, indeed.”

“Oh, miserable me!”

“Don’t!  There’s just pure heart-break in that tone.  It’s just as I say; you’ve got to get right down to it and amuse your mind, as if it was salvation.”

“They’re easy words to say, Barrow, but how am I going to amuse, entertain, divert a mind that finds itself suddenly assaulted and overwhelmed by disasters of a sort not dreamed of and not provided for?  No—­no, the bare idea of amusement is repulsive to my feelings:  Let us talk of death and funerals.”

“No—­not yet.  That would be giving up the ship.  We’ll not give up the ship yet.  I’m going to amuse you; I sent Brady out for the wherewithal before you finished breakfast.”

“You did?  What is it?”

“Come, this is a good sign—­curiosity.  Oh, there’s hope for you yet.”

CHAPTER XVI.

Brady arrived with a box, and departed, after saying, “They’re finishing one up, but they’ll be along as soon as it’s done.”

Barrow took a frameless oil portrait a foot square from the box, set it up in a good light, without comment, and reached for another, taking a furtive glance at Tracy, meantime.  The stony solemnity in Tracy’s face remained as it was, and gave out no sign of interest.  Barrow placed the second portrait beside the first, and stole another glance while reaching for a third.  The stone image softened, a shade.  No. 3 forced the ghost of a smile, No. 4 swept indifference wholly away, and No. 5 started a laugh which was still in good and hearty condition when No. 14 took its place in the row.