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THE DRY DOCK

29

barrels. With the utmost surprise and curiosity, he straightened up and moved silently around the pile.

Then he saw the tall Englishman leaning across the bridge rail, face in hands, staring at the line of land silhouetted in black between the brazen sky and the reflecting water. Smith's whole attitude was so suggestive of trouble that Madden moved forward in generous sympathy.

The Englishman heard the movement, straightened, looked around; his long face wore a look of suffering in the colored light.

“Sorry you're so blue, old man,” sympathized the American, making a guess at the cause of his bad spirits. “Let's have a turn around this old tub and forget homesickness.”

“Home!” echoed Caradoc gruffly. “It's—it's all England I'm leaving. It's England and honor and—” he stiffened suddenly and snarled out: “Do you think I climbed away up here on this bridge hunting your company?”

Leonard was utterly nonplussed by this shift. “I'm sure I meant no harm—”

“Certainly not,” sneered Caradoc. “You Americans have the undesired friendliness of

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