But would he be able to sleep?
he asked himself anxiously.

If only he had Tom there--the trusty seaman who had fought at his right hand in a cutting out affair or two, and had always preached to him the necessity to take care of himself.

"For it's no great trick," he used to say, "to get yourself killed in a hot fight.
Any fool can do that.

The proper pastime is to fight the Frenchies and then live to fight another day." Byrne found it a hard matter not to fall into listening to the silence.
Somehow he had the conviction that nothing would break it unless he heard again the haunting sound of Tom's voice.

He had heard it twice before.
Odd! And yet no wonder, he argued with himself reasonably, since he had been thinking of the man for over thirty hours continuously and, what's more, inconclusively.