“Very likely.”  The Captain sighed again contentedly.  “I take no truck in marriage, for my part.  A friend’s company enough for me.”

“What’s his name, Cap’n?  The whole town’s dyin’ to know.”

“He’s called Hunken—­Tobias Hunken.”

The barber paused, snapping his scissors and nodding.  “Bussa was right then, or Bussa and Philp between ’em.”

“Hey?”

“’Tis wonderful how news gets abroad in Troy. . . .  ‘Hunken,’ now?  And where might he be one of?  I don’t seem to fit the name in my mem’ry at all.”

“You wouldn’t.  He comes from t’other side of the Duchy—­a Padstow-born man, and he’ve never set eyes on Troy in his life.”

“Yet he takes a house an’ settles here?  That’s queer, as you might say.”

“I see nothing queer about it.  He’s my friend—­that’s why.  And what’s more, the Lord never put bowels into a better man.”

“He’ll be a pleasure to shave, then,” opined Mr Toy.

“No, he won’t; he wears his hair all over his face.  Talkin’ of that reminds me—­when you’ve done croppin’ me I want a clean shave.”

“Chin-beard an’ all, Cap’n?”

“Take it off—­take it off!  ’Twas recommended to me against sore throat; but I never liked the thing nor the look of it.”

“Then there’s one point, it seems, on which you an’ your friend don’t agree, sir?”

The barber meant this facetiously, but Captain Cai considered it in all seriousness.

“You’re mistaken,” he answered.  “Between friends there’s a give-an’-take, and until you understand that you don’t understand friendship.  ’Bias Hunken likes me to do as I choose, and I like ’Bias to do as he chooses:  by consekence o’ which the more we goes our own ways the more we goes one another’s.  That clear, I hope.”

“Moderately,” the barber assented.

“I’ll put it t’other way—­about an’ make it still clearer.  Most married folks, as I notice, start t’other way about.  For argyment’s sake we’ll call ’em Jack an’ Joan.  Jack starts by thinkin’ Joan pretty near perfection; but he wants her quite perfect and all to his mind—­his mind, d’ye see?  Now if you follow that up, as you followed it between ’Bias and me—­”

“I don’t want my missus to wear a beard, if that’s what you mean.”

“’Twasn’t a good illustration, I admit.  But the p’int is, I like ’Bias because he’s ‘Bias, an’ ’Bias likes me because I’m Cai Hocken.  That bein’ so, don’t it follow we’re goin’ to be better friends than ever, now we’ve hauled ashore to do as likes us?”

The barber shook his head.  “You’re determined to have off your chin-beard?”

“To be sure.  I’m ashore now, aren’t I?—­and free to wear what face I choose.”

“You won’t find it so, Cap’n.”

“T’ch’t!  You landsmen be so fed with liberty you don’t know your privileges.  If you don’t like your habits, what hinders you from changin’ ’em?  But do you?  Here I come back:  here’s th’ old Town Quay same as ever it was; and here likewise you all be, runnin’ on as I left ’ee, like a clockwork—­a bit slower with age maybe—­that’s all.  Whereby I conclude your ways content ye.”