"Clear, settled weather, and a smooth sea." He was gazing reflectively through the weather air-port as he spoke.
"Cadogan"--Meade was speaking--"give us some more of your adventures."
Cadogan drew out his watch, also of gun-metal. "And I've carried that a good many years, too." He spoke as if to himself. He looked at the face. "No, it's too late, Mr. Meade. It's too late to begin now."
"It's never too late. Just think, in your short life you have lived more volumes than I have written. You know more, ten times more, about real life than I do, and I'm sixty. I wonder"--he fanned the smoke from him--"would you mind dying after all you've been through?"
Cadogan was still standing. He set his left foot on the seat of his chair, his left elbow on his knee, and his chin in the heel of his le
