“What a dear little ship!” cried Mamie, as our miniature craft was pointed out to her.  And then, on second thought, she turned to the best man.  “And how brave you must be, Mr. Dodd,” she cried, “to go in that tiny thing so far upon the ocean!” And I perceived I had risen in the lady’s estimation.

The dear little ship presented a horrid picture of confusion, and its occupants of weariness and ill-humour.  From the cabin the cook was storing tins into the lazarette, and the four hands, sweaty and sullen, were passing them from one to another from the waist.  Johnson was three parts asleep over the table; and in his bunk, in his own cabin, the captain sourly chewed and puffed at a cigar.

“See here,” he said, rising; “you’ll be sorry you came.  We can’t stop work if we’re to get away to-morrow.  A ship getting ready for sea is no place for people, anyway.  You’ll only interrupt my men.”

I was on the point of answering something tart; but Jim, who was acquainted with the breed, as he was with most things that had a bearing on affairs, made haste to pour in oil.

“Captain,” he said, “I know we’re a nuisance here, and that you’ve had a rough time.  But all we want is that you should drink one glass of wine with us, Perrier-Jouet, from Longhurst, on the occasion of my marriage, and Loudon’s—­Mr. Dodd’s—­departure.”

“Well, it’s your lookout,” said Nares.  “I don’t mind half an hour.  Spell, O!” he added to the men; “go and kick your heels for half an hour, and then you can turn to again a trifle livelier.  Johnson, see if you can’t wipe off a chair for the lady.”

His tone was no more gracious than his language; but when Mamie had turned upon him the soft fire of her eyes, and informed him that he was the first sea-captain she had ever met, “except captains of steamers, of course”—­she so qualified the statement—­and had expressed a lively sense of his courage, and perhaps implied (for I suppose the arts of ladies are the same as those of men) a modest consciousness of his good looks, our bear began insensibly to soften; and it was already part as an apology, though still with unaffected heat of temper, that he volunteered some sketch of his annoyances.

“A pretty mess we’ve had!” said he.  “Half the stores were wrong; I’ll wring John Smith’s neck for him some of these days.  Then two newspaper beasts came down, and tried to raise copy out of me, till I threatened them with the first thing handy; and then some kind of missionary bug, wanting to work his passage to Raiatea or somewhere.  I told him I would take him off the wharf with the butt end of my boot, and he went away cursing.  This vessel’s been depreciated by the look of him.”

While the captain spoke, with his strange, humorous, arrogant abruptness, I observed Jim to be sizing him up, like a thing at once quaint and familiar, and with a scrutiny that was both curious and knowing.

“One word, dear boy,” he said, turning suddenly to me.  And when he had drawn me on deck, “That man,” says he, “will carry sail till your hair grows white; but never you let on, never breathe a word.  I know his line:  he’ll die before he’ll take advice; and if you get his back up, he’ll run you right under.  I don’t often jam in my advice, Loudon; and when I do, it means I’m thoroughly posted.”