CHAPTER III
THE GIFT
Saltash was the first to recover himself; he was seldom disconcerted, never for long.
"Hullo!" he said, with a quizzical twist of the eyebrows. "You, is it?
And what have you come for?"
The intruder lowered his gaze abruptly, flushing to the roots of his fair hair. "I came," he said, in a very low voice, "to—to ask you something."
"Then you've come some distance to do it," said Saltash lightly, "for I never turn back. Perhaps that was your idea, was it?"
"No—no!" With a vehement shake of the head he made answer. "I didn't think you would start so soon. I thought—I would be able to ask you first."
"Oh, indeed!" said Saltash. And then unexpectedly he laid a hand upon one narrow shoulder and turned the downcast face upwards. "Ah! I thought he'd marked you, the swine! What was he drubbing you for? Tell me that!"
A great purple bruise just above one eye testified to the severity of the drubbing; the small, boyish countenance quivered sensitively under his look. With sudden impulse two trembling hands closed tightly upon his arm.
"Well?" said Saltash.
"Oh, please, sir—please, my lord, I mean—" with great earnestness the words came—"let me stay with you! I'll earn my keep somehow, and I shan't take up much room!"
"Oh, that's the idea, is it?" said Saltash.
"Yes—yes!" The boy's eyes implored him—blue eyes with short black lashes that imparted an oddly childish look to a face that was otherwise thin and sharp with anxiety. "I can do anything. I don't want to live on charity. I can work. I'd love to work—for you."
"You're a rum little devil, aren't you?" said Saltash.
"I'm honest, sir! Really I'm honest!" Desperately the bony hands clung.
"You won't be sorry if you take me. I swear you'll never be sorry!"
"What about you?" said Saltash. He was looking down into the upraised face with a semi-quizzical compassion in his own. "Think you'd never be sorry either?"
A sudden smile gleamed across the drawn face. "Of course I shouldn't!
You're English."
"Ah!" said Saltash, with a faintly wry expression. "Not necessarily white on that account, my friend, so don't run away with that idea, I beg! I'm quite capable of giving you a worse drubbing than the good Antonio, for instance, if you qualified for it. I can be a terrifically wild beast upon occasion. Look here, you imp! Are you starved or what? Do you want something to eat?"
The wiry fingers tightened on his arm. "No, sir—no, my lord—not really.
I often don't eat. I'm used to it."
"But why the devil not?" demanded Saltash. "Didn't they feed you over there?"
"Yes—oh, yes. But I didn't want it. I was—too miserable." The blue eyes blinked rapidly under his look as if half-afraid of him.
"You little ass!" said Saltash in a voice that somehow reassured. "Sit down there! Curl up if you like, and don't move till I come back!"
He indicated the sofa, and quite gently but with decision freed his arm from the nervously gripping hands.
"You won't send me back?" the boy urged with quivering supplication.
"No, I won't do that," said Saltash as he went away.
He swore once or twice with considerable energy ere he returned, cursing the absent Antonio in language that would have outmatched the Italian's own. Then, having relieved his feelings, he abruptly laughed to himself and pursued his errand with business-like briskness.
Returning, he found his protégé in a small heap on the sofa, with his head deep in the cushion as though he sought escape from the light. Again the feeling of harbouring some small animal in pain came to him, and he frowned. The mute misery of that huddled form held a more poignant appeal than any words.
"Look here—Toby!" he said. "I've brought you something to eat, and when you've had it you'd better get a sleep. You can tell me all about it—if you want to—in the morning."
The boy started upright at his coming. He looked at Saltash in his quick, startled way. It was almost as if he expected a kick at any moment. Then he looked at the tray he carried and suddenly his face crumpled; he hid it in his hands.
"Oh, dash it!" said Saltash. "Let's have a little sense!"
He set down the tray and flicked the fair head admonishingly, with his thumb, still frowning. "Come! Be a sport!" he said.
After a brief pause with a tremendous effort the boy pulled himself together and sat up, but he did not raise his eyes to Saltash again. He kept them fixed upon his hands which were tightly clasped in front of him.
"I'll do—whatever you tell me," he said, in a low voice. "No one has ever been so—decent to me before."
"Have one of those rolls!" said Saltash practically. "You'll talk better with something inside you."
He seated himself on the edge of his bunk and lit another cigarette, his attitude one of royal indifference, but his odd eyes flashing to and fro with a monkey-like shrewdness that missed nothing of his desolate companion's forlorn state.
"You've been doing this starvation business for some time, haven't you?" he asked presently. "No wonder you didn't feel like work."
The boy's pinched face smiled, a small wistful smile. "I can work," he said. "I can do anything—women's work as well as men's. I can cook and clean boots and knives and sew on buttons and iron trousers and wash shirts and wait on tables and make beds and sweep and—"
"For heaven's sake, stop!" said Saltash. "You make me giddy. Tell me the things you can't do instead! It would take less time."
Toby considered for a few moments. "I can't drive cars," he said at length. "But I can clean 'em, and I'd love to learn."
Saltash laughed. "That's the sole exception, is it? You seem to have picked up a good deal in a short time. Did they teach you all that over there?"
Toby shook his head. "I've knocked about a good lot," he said.
"And know everything evidently," said Saltash. "What made you think of coming on board this yacht?"
The boy's eyes gave him a shining look. "Because she belongs to you," he said.
"Oh!" Saltash puffed at his cigarette for a few seconds. "You'd made up your mind to throw in your fortunes with mine, had you?"
Toby nodded. "I wanted to—if you'd have me."
"Seems I haven't much choice," remarked Saltash. "And what are you going to do when you're tired of me? Fling yourself at someone else's head, I suppose?"
Again he saw the hot colour flood the thin face, but the boyish eyes did not flinch from his. "No, I shan't do that," said Toby, after brief reflection. "I'll just go right under next time."
"Oh, will you?" said Saltash. "And so remain—a blot on my escutcheon for all time. Well now, look here! You say you're honest?"
"Yes, sir," said Toby with breathless assurance, and sprang up and stood before him with the words, as though challenging criticism.
Saltash poked at him with his foot, as he sat. "Make me a promise?" he asked casually.
"Anything you wish, my lord,"