In
the other corner of the alcove Baldwin and a few friends were sitting
into a quiet little game. Things had been breaking well for the sailor,
and it promised to be a blissful night, for when luck came his way in a
poker game, Baldwin could fall into a trance, if nobody disturbed him.
It was Hatty who came bursting through the swinging doors to disturb
him. One peek at his chum's face and "O Lord!" murmured Baldwin, "still
on it." Aloud he added, "Sit in, Bud," and Harty sat in, after first
ordering a round of drinks.
Baldwin lifted his drink. "Fell off that water-wagon kind o' sudden,
didn't you, Bud," but without even a curious glance emptied his glass.
Four or five hands were played, and, luck still running the sailor's
way, he was smiling like a moonlit sea, when, "Say, Baldy," shook him
out of his revery.
"Lord, Bud! What?"
"A hell of a fine bunch we are."
"Fine how?"
"To be spending our Christmas here."
"Why, where else would we be?"
"Where but home?"
Baldwin smiled broadly. "Say, Bud, I don't see you logging any
record-breaking runs for home.
"Blast it!--I've got no home."
"Well, who has?"
"But--" Harty took the spare pack which he had been riffling and slammed
it down on the table--"there's men who've got homes--good homes--who're
going to their death to sea to-night."
"What's the matter, Bud? Sit down.
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