I'll stay
another week but I'll take things easy. You get on with the boat
now. I'll sit here and have a smoke."
Nicholls grunted but obeyed, and for the next few days Tavernake
loafed. On his return one afternoon from a long walk, he saw a
familiar figure sitting upon the sea wall in front of the
workshop, a familiar figure but a strange one in these parts. It
was Mr. Pritchard, in an American felt hat, and smoking a very
black cigar. He leaned over and nodded to Tavernake, who was
staring at him aghast.
"Hallo, old man!" he called out. "Run you to earth, you see!"
"Yes, I see!" Tavernake exclaimed.
"Come right along up here and let's talk," Pritchard continued.
Tavernake obeyed. Pritchard looked him over approvingly.
Tavernake was roughly dressed in those days, but as a man he had
certainly developed.
"Say, you're looking fine," his visitor remarked. "What wouldn't
I give for that color and those shoulders!"
"It is a healthy life," Tavernake admitted. "Do you mean that
you've come down here to see me?"
"That's so," Pritchard announced; "down here to see you, and for
no other reason. Not but that the scenery isn't all it should
be, and that sort of thing," he went on, "but I am not putting up
any bluff about it. It's you I am here to talk to. Are you
ready? Shall I go straight ahead?"
"If you please," Tavernake said, slowly filling his pipe.
"You dropped out of things pretty sudden," Pritchard continued.
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