Whither should he go? In what direction set
his face? Eastward for Plymouth, or westward for Falmouth?
He roamed the streets, letting the throng of merrymakers carry him
for the while as it willed; and it ended, of course (you may make the
experiment for yourself on a regatta night), in carrying him to the
merry-go-round on the Town Quay.
He stared at it stupidly, his hands in his bulging pockets.
He feared no thieves. To begin with, his appearance was not
calculated to invite the attention of pickpockets, and moreover,
there are none in Troy. He stared at the whirling horses, the
blazing naphtha jets, the revolving mirrors, the laughing,
irresponsible faces as they swept by and away again, and reappeared
and once again passed laughing thither where, on the farther side of
the circle, brooded (as it seemed to him) a great shadow of darkness.
Suddenly his heart stood still, and his few hairs stiffened under his
tarpaulin hat. That sailor, riding with a happy grin on his face,
and his face towards his horse's tail! Surely not--surely it could
not be . . .? But as the sailor whirled round into view again, it
surely was Ben Jope!
The music and the merry-go-round slowed down together and came to a
standstill. A score of riders clambered off, and a score of
onlookers surged up and took their places. The Major ran with them,
pushing his way to the far side of the circle where Mr.
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