Saltash lay in a deck-chair with his face to the sky, but his attitude was utterly lacking in the solid repose that characterized his companion.

He smoked his cigar badly, with impatient pulls.

When it was half gone, he suddenly swore and flung it overboard.
"Larpent," he said, breaking a silence, "if you were a damned rotter--like me--what should you do with yourself ?" Larpent turned his head and quietly surveyed him.

"I shouldn't run a home for waifs and strays," he said deliberately.
Saltash made a sharp movement.

"Then I suppose you'd leave 'em in the gutter to starve," he said, with suppressed vehemence.
"No, I shouldn't.