Macandrew stared in contempt at the back of the fellow as he went.  “A nice boy that.  Too bright and bonny for my ship.  What’s that he was saying about Jessie?” He tried to see where she was, and lowered his voice.  “I know his kind.  I saw them together last night, in the Dock Road.  What does she have anything to do with him for?  We know her of course . . . but even then. . . .  She’s really not a bad sort.  She’s like that with all those young dogs.  Can’t help it, I suppose.”

He moved to the bar, a massive figure, beyond the age of a sea-going engineer, but still as light on his feet as a girl.  “Where’s she gone?” He pushed open one of the little glass screens, and put his petulant face, with its pale eyes set like aquamarines in bronze, into an opening too small to frame it.  “Can you see her, Hanson?”

Hanson winked at me, adjusted the spectacles on his nose, and grinned.  With that grin, and his spectacles, he was as surprising as a handsome gargoyle.  His height compelled him to lean forward and to grin downward, even when speaking to a big man like Macandrew.  He turned to his chief now, and both hands went up to his spectacles.  In the way the corners of his mouth turned up before he spoke, whimsically wrinkling his nose, and in his intent and amused regard, there was a suggestion of the mockery of a low immortal for beings who are fated earnestly to frustrate themselves.  His grin gave you the uncomfortable feeling that it was useless to pretend you were keeping nothing from him.

“Here goes,” said Hanson.  “Never mind Jessie.  I’ve got something to tell you, Chief.  I’m leaving you this voyage.”

Macandrew was instantly annoyed.  “Going?  Dammit, you can’t.  Look at the crowd I’ve got now.  You mustn’t do it.”

“I must.  They are a thin lot, but you could push the old Medea along with anything.  I’ve got another ship.  My reason is very good, from the way I look at it.”

Hanson turned his grin to me.  He was going to enjoy the privilege of seeing his reasons deemed unreasonable.  “Don’t think it’s a better job I’ve got.  It’s worse.  It’s a very rummy voyage.  We may complete it, with luck.  It’s a boat-running lunacy, and some mining gear.  She’s called the Cygnet.  I’ve been over her, and we shall call her something different before we see the last of her.”

“Then why are you going?” I asked him.

“To see what will happen. . . .”

Macandrew interrupted him.  “What?  And you next on the list for Chief?  You’re romantic, young man, and that means you’re no engineer.  Is there a lot of money in it?”

“There isn’t, but there’s some life.  I want to know what I’m made of.  Shall I ever learn it under you?  Down below in the Medea is like winding up a clock and going to sleep.  Do you know the Cygnet has six inches of freeboard?” He was talking to me, but kept glancing sideways to see what effect this had on Macandrew.  But Macandrew’s broad back was impassive.