“And what is your part of the work?” asked the girl.

“I?  Oh, I’m like Marcelline, the clown at the Hippodrome—­always pretending to help, but forever keeping underfoot.  When it becomes necessary I raise the money to keep the performance going.”

“Do you really mean that all those men would give up their positions and come to you if you sent for them?”

“By the first train, or afoot, if there were no other way.  They’d follow me to the Philippines or Timbuctoo, regardless of their homes and their families.”

“That is splendid!  You must feel very proud of inspiring such loyalty,” said Natalie.  “But why are you idle now?  Surely there are railroads to be built somewhere.”

“Yes, I was asked to figure on a contract in Manchuria the other day.  I could have had it easily, and it would have meant my everlasting fortune, but—­”

“But what?”

“I found it isn’t a white man’s country.  It’s sickly and unsafe.  Some of my ‘boys’ would die before we finished it, and the game isn’t worth that price.  No, I’ll wait.  Something better will turn up.  It always does.”

As Natalie looked upon that kindly, square-hewn face with its tracery of lines about the eyes, its fine, strong jaw, and its indefinable expression of power, she began to understand more fully why those with whom she had talked had spoken of Murray O’Neil with an almost worshipful respect.  She felt very insignificant and purposeless as she huddled there beside him, and her complacence at his attentions deepened into a vivid sense of satisfaction.  Thus far he had spoken entirely of men; she wondered if he ever thought of women, and thrilled a bit at the intimacy that had sprung up between them so quickly and naturally.

It confirmed her feeling of prideful confidence in the man that the north-bound freighter should punctually show her lights around the islands and that she should pause in her majestic sweep at the signal of this pigmy craft.  The ship loomed huge and black and terrifying as the launch at length drew in beneath it; its sides towered like massive, unscalable ramparts.  There was a delay; there seemed to be some querulousness on the part of the officer in command at being thus halted, some doubt about allowing strangers to come aboard.  But the girl smiled to herself as the voices flung themselves back and forth through the night.  Once they learned who it was that called from the sea their attitude would quickly change.  Sure enough, in a little while orders were shouted from the bridge; she heard men running from somewhere, and a rope ladder came swinging down.  O’Neil was lifting her from her warm nest of rugs now and telling her to fear nothing.  The launch crept closer, coughing and shuddering as if in terror at this close contact.  There was a brief instant of breathlessness as the girl found herself swung out over the waters; then a short climb with O’Neil’s protecting hand at her waist and she stood panting, radiant, upon steel decks which began to throb and tremble to the churning engines.