Nevertheless he was in the seventh heaven, divining that his friend (so chary of speech as a rule) had been trying to make amends, to sweep away the little cloud that for a moment—­no more—­had crossed their perfect understanding.  ’Bias was here, determined to like Troy:  and ’Bias was succeeding.  What else mattered?

“Tidy little trade here,” commented ’Bias, as they reached the Passage Slip and conned the business reach of the river, the vessels alongside the jetties, the cranes at work, the shipping moored off at the buoys—­ vessels of all nations, but mostly Danes and Russians, awaiting their turn.

“Twenty thousand tons a-month, my boy!  See that two-funnelled craft ’longside the second jetty?  Six thousand—­not a fraction under.  We’re things o’ the past, you an’ me, an’ ’twas high time we hauled out o’ the competition.”

“China clay?”

“All of it.”

“I don’t know much about china clay,” said ’Bias reflectively.  “But I never met twenty thousand tons of anything where it wasn’ time for somebody to protect the public.”

“There’s a Harbour Commission here, o’ course—­bye-laws an’ all that sort o’ thing.”

“Ay; there’s one openin’ for ye.  We’ll find others.”

They resumed their way.  The street—­Troy has but one street, but makes up for this by calling various lengths of it by various names—­was in places so narrow that to avoid passing vehicles they were forced to take refuge in handy doorways.  In three out of four the door stood open, and Captain Cai, popping his head in at kitchen or small parlour, would beg pardon for intruding, pass the time of day with the mistress of the house, inquire for her husband’s health—­“Do I remember him, I wonder?” —­and how many children there were, and what might be their ages?  He always wound up by introducing his friend.  Nobody resented these salutations, these questions.  Indeed how was it possible to be morose with Captain Cai?—­he bubbled such transparent gaiety, kindliness, innocence.

“’Tis our way in Troy, you see,” he told ’Bias as they dived into a cobbler’s shop to escape the omnibus.  “You have to be neighbourly if you don’t want to be run over. . . .  In London, now, you’d waste a lot o’ time explainin’ that you didn’ want your boots mended.”

“It’s like what I’ve heard about canvassin’ for Parlyment,” said ’Bias.  “And that’s another suggestion fur ye.”

Of the most important shops in the length of thoroughfare known as Fore Street and in Church Square (which is the same street with a corkscrew twist in it) ’Bias showed much appreciation.  He was especially allured by the rainbow-tinted goods in Mr Shake Benny’s window, and by the cards recommending them for sale. If you admire Lord Rosebery, Now is Your Time—­He studied this for some moments.

“Time for what?” he asked, rubbing his ear softly.

“Drinks,” suggested Cai, and laughed in pure pleasure of heart.  “Come along, man—­or you’ll be makin’ me Prime Minister before we get to the Ship. . .  Yes, yon’s the church—­Established.  You can tell by the four spikes an’ the weathercock; like-wise by the tombstones.  But they bury folks up the hill nowadays.”  He paused—­“That reminds me”—­he paused again.