Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. The grim mockery of it!—those South Sea loafers, taking advantage of Enschede's Christianity and imposing upon him, accepting his money and medicines and laughing behind his back! No doubt they made the name a byword and a subject for ribald jest in the waterfront bars. "Holloa—what's that?" cried Austin, starting up. I shall find him yet. As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. It was now evident that he had not been normal that first day.
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