"In the bush somewhere; in the sea; on a blamed
mountain-top for choice. At home? Yes! the

world's my home; but I expect I'll die in a hospital
some day. What of that? Any place is good

enough, as long as I've lived; and I've been every-
thing you can think of almost but a tailor or a

soldier. I've been a boundary rider; I've sheared
sheep; and humped my swag; and harpooned a

whale. I've rigged ships, and prospected for gold,
and skinned dead bullocks,--and turned my back

on more money than the old man would have
scraped in his whole life. Ha, ha!"

He overwhelmed her. She pulled herself to-
gether and managed to utter, "Time to rest

now."
He straightened himself up, away from the wall,

and in a severe voice said, "Time to go."
But he did not move. He leaned back again,

and hummed thoughtfully a bar or two of an out-
landish tune.

She felt as if she were about to cry. "That's
another of your cruel songs," she said.

"Learned it in Mexico--in Sonora." He talked
easily. "It is the song of the Gambucinos. You

don't know? The song of restless men. Nothing
could hold them in one place--not even a woman.

You used to meet one of them now and again, in
the old days, on the edge of the gold country, away

north there beyond the Rio Gila. I've seen it. A
prospecting engineer in Mazatlan took me along

with him to help look after the waggons. A
sailor's a handy chap to have about you anyhow.

It's all a desert: cracks in the earth that you can't
see the bottom of; and mountains--sheer rocks

standing up high like walls and church spires, only
a hundred times bigger. The valleys are full of

boulders and black stones. There's not a blade of
grass to see; and the sun sets more red over that

country than I have seen it anywhere--blood-red
and angry. It IS fine."

"You do not want to go back there again?"
she stammered out.

He laughed a little. "No. That's the blamed
gold country. It gave me the shivers sometimes

to look at it--and we were a big lot of men together,
mind; but these Gambucinos wandered alone.

They knew that country before anybody had ever
heard of it. They had a sort of gift for prospect-

ing, and the fever of it was on them too; and they
did not seem to want the gold very much. They

would find some rich spot, and then turn their backs
on it; pick up perhaps a little--enough for a

spree--and then be off again, looking for more.
They never stopped long where there were houses;

they had no wife, no chick, no home, never a chum.
You couldn't be friends with a Gambucino; they

were too restless--here to-day, and gone, God
knows where, to-morrow. They told no one of

their finds, and there has never been a Gambucino
well off. It was not for the gold they cared; it was

the wandering about looking for it in the stony
country that got into them and wouldn't let them

rest; so that no woman yet born could hold a Gam-
bucino for more than a week. That's what the

song says. It's all about a pretty girl that tried
hard to keep hold of a Gambucino lover, so that he

should bring her lots of gold. No fear! Off he
went, and she never saw him again."

"What became of her?" she breathed out.
"The song don't tell. Cried a bit, I daresay.

They were the fellows: kiss and go. But it's the
looking for a thing--a something . . . Sometimes

I think I am a sort of Gambucino myself."
"No woman can hold you, then," she began in

a brazen voice, which quavered suddenly before the
end.

"No longer than a week," he joked, playing
upon her very heartstrings with the gay, tender

note of his laugh; "and yet I am fond of them
all. Anything for a woman of the right sort.

The scrapes they got me into, and the scrapes they
got me out of! I love them at first sight. I've

fallen in love with you already, Miss--Bessie's your
name--eh?"

She backed away a little, and with a trembling
laugh:

"You haven't seen my face yet."
He bent forward gallantly. "A little pale: it

suits some. But you are a fine figure of a girl, Miss
Bessie."

She was all in a flutter. Nobody had ever said
so much to her before.

His tone changed. "I am getting middling
hungry, though. Had no breakfast to-day.

Couldn't you scare up some bread from that tea
for me, or--"

She was gone already. He had been on the point
of asking her to let him come inside. No matter.

Anywhere would do. Devil of a fix! What would
his chum think?

"I didn't ask you as a beggar," he said, jest-
ingly, taking a piece of bread-and-butter from the

plate she held before him. "I asked as a friend.
My dad is rich, you know."

"He starves himself for your sake."
"And I have starved for his whim," he said, tak-

ing up another piece.
"All he has in the world is for you," she

pleaded.
"Yes, if I come here to sit on it like a dam' toad

in a hole. Thank you; and what about the shovel,
eh? He always had a queer way of showing his

love."
"I could bring him round in a week," she sug-

gested, timidly.
He was too hungry to answer her; and, holding

the plate submissively to his hand, she began to
whisper up to him in a quick, panting voice. He

listened, amazed, eating slower and slower, till at
last his jaws stopped altogether. "That's his

game, is it?" he said, in a rising tone of scathing
contempt. An ungovernable movement of his arm

sent the plate flying out of her fingers. He shot
out a violent curse.

She shrank from him, putting her hand against
the wall.

"No!" he raged. "He expects! Expects ME
--for his rotten money! . . . . Who wants his

home? Mad--not he! Don't you think. He
wants his own way. He wanted to turn me into a

miserable lawyer's clerk, and now he wants to make
of me a blamed tame rabbit in a cage. Of me! Of

me!" His subdued angry laugh frightened her
now.

"The whole world ain't a bit too big for me to
spread my elbows in, I can tell you--what's your

name--Bessie--let alone a dam' parlour in a hutch.
Marry! He wants me to marry and settle! And

as likely as not he has looked out the girl too--
dash my soul! And do you know the Judy, may

I ask?"
She shook all over with noiseless dry sobs; but

he was fuming and fretting too much to notice her
distress. He bit his thumb with rage at the mere

idea. A window rattled up.
"A grinning, information fellow," pronounced

old Hagberd dogmatically, in measured tones.
And the sound of his voice seemed to Bessie to make

the night itself mad--to pour insanity and dis-
aster on the earth. "Now I know what's wrong

with the people here, my dear. Why, of course!
With this mad chap going about. Don't you have

anything to do with him, Bessie. Bessie, I say!"
They stood as if dumb. The old man fidgeted

and mumbled to himself at the window. Suddenly
he cried, piercingly: "Bessie--I see you. I'll tell

Harry."
She made a movement as if to run away, but

stopped and raised her hands to her temples.
Young Hagberd, shadowy and big, stirred no more

than a man of bronze. Over their heads the crazy
night whimpered and scolded in an old man's voice.

"Send him away, my dear. He's only a vaga-
bond. What you want is a good home of your own.

That chap has no home--he's not like Harry. He
can't be Harry. Harry is coming to-morrow. Do

you hear? One day more," he babbled more ex-
citedly; "never you fear--Harry shall marry

you."
His voice rose very shrill and mad against the

regular deep soughing of the swell coiling heavily
about the outer face of the sea-wall.

"He will have to. I shall make him, or if not"
--he swore a great oath--"I'll cut him off with a

shilling to-morrow, and leave everything to you.
I shall. To you. Let him starve."

The window rattled down.
Harry drew a deep breath, and took one step

toward Bessie. "So it's you--the girl," he said,
in a lowered voice. She had not moved, and she re-

mained half turned away from him, pressing her
head in the palms of her hands. "My word!" he

continued, with an invisible half-smile on his lips.
"I have a great mind to stop. . . ."

Her elbows were trembling violently.
"For a week," he finished without a pause.

She clapped her hands to her face.
He came up quite close, and took hold of her

wrists gently. She felt his breath on her ear.
"It's a scrape I am in--this, and it is you that

must see me through." He was trying to uncover
her face. She resisted. He let her go then, and

stepping back a little, "Have you got any
money?" he asked. "I must be off now."

She nodded quickly her shamefaced head, and he
waited, looking away from her, while, trembling

all over and bowing her neck, she tried to find the
pocket of her dress.

"Here it is!" she whispered. "Oh, go away!
go away for God's sake! If I had more--more--

I would give it all to forget--to make you for-

• tailor [´teilə] n.裁缝 vt.裁制(衣服) (初中英语单词)
• boundary [´baundəri] n.界线，边界 (初中英语单词)
• severe [si´viə] a.严厉的；苛刻的 (初中英语单词)
• restless [´restləs] a.没有休息的 (初中英语单词)
• flutter [´flʌtə] vi.飘扬；摆 n.拍动 (初中英语单词)
• altogether [,ɔ:ltə´geðə] ad.完全；总而言之 (初中英语单词)
• movement [´mu:vmənt] n.活动；运动；动作 (初中英语单词)
• violent [´vaiələnt] a.强暴的；猛烈的 (初中英语单词)
• rabbit [´ræbit] n.兔子，野兔 (初中英语单词)
• breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
• invisible [in´vizəbəl] a.看不见的；无形的 (初中英语单词)
• gently [´dʒentli] ad.温和地；静静地 (初中英语单词)
• thoughtfully [´θɔ:tfuli] ad.深思地；体贴地 (高中英语单词)
• rotten [´rɔtn] a.腐烂的；腐朽的 (高中英语单词)
• shadowy [´ʃædəui] a.有阴影的；模糊的 (高中英语单词)
• bronze [brɔnz] n.青铜(器) (高中英语单词)
• shrill [ʃril] a.(声音)尖锐的 (高中英语单词)
• brazen [´breizən] a.黄铜制的；无耻的 (英语四级单词)
• scrape [skreip] v.&n.刮，削，擦；搔 (英语四级单词)
• trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
• taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
• shrank [ʃræŋk] shrink的过去式 (英语六级单词)
• insanity [in´sæniti] n.疯狂；精神错乱 (英语六级单词)