“Hm,” said Beverly, lengthily.  “You put a pin through some of ’em.  Hortense hasn’t got the disease, though.”

“Ah, she spotted it!  She’s taking treatment.  It’s likely to help her—­for a time.”

He looked at me.  “You know something;”

I nodded.  He looked at Hortense, who was now seated among the noisy group with quiet John beside her.  She was talking to Bohm, she had no air of any special relation to John, but there was a lustre about her that spoke well for the treatment.

“Then it’s coming off?” said Beverly.

“She has been too much for him,” I answered.

Beverly misunderstood.  “He doesn’t look it.”

“That’s what I mean.”

“But the fool can cut loose!”

“Oh, you and I have gone over all that!  I’ve even gone over it with him.”

Beverly looked at Hortense again.  “And her fire-eater’s fortune is about double what it would have been.  I don’t see how she’s going to square herself with Charley.”

“She’ll wait till that’s necessary.  It isn’t necessary to-day.”

We had to drop our subject here, for the owner of the Hermana approached us with the amiable purpose, I found, of making himself civil for a while to me.

“I think you would have been interested to see the navy yard,” I said to him.

“I have seen it,” Charley replied, in his slightly foreign, careful voice.  “It is not a navy yard.  It is small politics and a big swamp.  I was not interested.”

“Dear me!” I cried.  “But surely it’s going to be very fine!”

“Another gold brick sold to Uncle Sam.”  Charley’s words seemed always to drop out like little accurately measured coins from some minting machine.  “They should not have changed from the old place if they wanted a harbor that could be used in war-time.  Here they must always keep at least one dredge going out at the jetties.  So the enemy blows up your dredge and you are bottled in, or bottled out.  It is very simple for the enemy.  And, for Kings Port, navy yards do not galvanize dead trade.  It was a gold brick.  You have not been on the Hermana before?”

He knew that I had not, but he wishes to show her to me; and I soon noted a difference as radical as it was diverting between this banker-yachtsman’s speech when he talked of affairs on land and when he attempted to deal with nautical matters.  The clear, dispassionate finality of his tone when phosphates, or railroads, or navy yards, or imperial loans were concerned, left him, and changed to something very like a recitation of trigonometry well memorized but not at all mastered; he could do that particular sum, but you mustn’t stop him; and I concluded that I would rather have Charley for my captain during a panic in Wall Street than in a hurricane at sea.  He, too, wore highly pronounced sea clothes of the ornamental kind; and though they fitted him physically, they hung baggily upon his unmarine spirit; giving him the air, as it were, of a broiled quail served on oyster shells.  Beverly Rodgers, the consummate Beverly, was the only man of us whose clothes seemed to belong to him; he looked as if he could sail a boat.