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foot on a ship again if I can help it—except to carry me some place I can’t get to by train. No. I’ve had enough. Dry land is the only place for me.

—But you studied to become an officer!

—Had to do something or I’d gone mad. The days were like years. Nothing to look at but sea and sky. No place to go. A regular prison. [He laughs.] And as for the East you used to rave about—well, you ought to see it, and smell it! And the Chinks and Japs and Hindus and the rest of them—you can have them! One walk down one of their filthy narrow streets with the tropic sun beating on it would sicken you for life with the “wonder and mystery” you used to dream of. I can say one thing for it though—it certainly has the stink market cornered.

—[Shrinking from his brother with a glance of aversion.] So all you found in the East was a stench?

—A stench! Ten thousand of them! That and the damned fever! You can have the tropics, old man. I never want to see them again. At that, there’s lots of money to be made down there—for a white man. The natives are too lazy to work, that’s the only trouble.

—But you did like some of the places, judging from your letters—Sydney, Buenos Aires

—Yes, Sydney’s a good town. [Enthusiastically.] But Buenos Aires—there’s the place for you. Argentine’s a country where a fellow has a