To his last hour at sea Captain X will forever retain the memory of what it cost him in strength of will to maintain his dignity, when, standing straight and exceedingly beautiful, with one hand full of lists, the huge bulldog at her feet, with a black bow under his left ear, and an assembly of the greatest sufferers before her, Damaris, two days before arriving at Port Said, solemnly read out the items and the shop price of each article chewed, damaged or totally destroyed during the voyage by the dog.

“Shoes, boots, pants, edges of trousers; two pipes, one pouch, six packets of gaspers; one entire tray of crockery; one air-cushion dropped in fright by stewardess; one coil of rope, one life-buoy, one tin can dented, one man’s ankles slightly bruised; one bare patch to ship’s cat’s back. . . .”  And so on and so forth; whilst murmurs arose from the sufferers, who chorused that “they didn’t want no compensation, only too pleased to part with their bits, as long . . .” etc., etc.

“I do not think the fault was all on one side, Miss Hethencourt,” summed up the Captain, speaking in guttural consonant and flattened vowel from suppressed emotion.  “The—­er—­the plaintiff must have approached the dog as he was chained and------”

“A bulldog,” broke in Damaris, “is a magnet to the best in every human being.  They simply could not help themselves; they were drawn within reach of his teeth; they——­”

“I cannot quite------” interrupted the captain.   “Yes?”

Chips, the carpenter, showed signs of bursting with information withheld.

“Beggin’ your pardon for interruption, sir, but what; the lady says is true; we just couldn’t keep away.  I saw the Chink—­beg pardon, sir, I mean Ling-a-Ling the laundryman, burning joss-sticks in front of ’im,”—­pointing of stub finger towards shameless dog—­“one night when the dawg was asleep.  Jus’ worship, please, sir, on all parts.  And Mrs. Pudge what didn’t oughter ’ave been down in our quarters, dropped the air cushion, sir, ’cause she missed in stays------”

“I cannot,” interrupted the captain—­then choked at a mental vision of Mrs. Pudge, who scorned such frivolous inventions as whalebone to support the figure—­then trumpeted behind his handkerchief, ending in that combined half-snort, half-giggle which is so disastrous to dignity and complexion, “I cannot allow the—­the—­er—­form of the Company’s stewardesses to be so discussed.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” fiercely rejoined Chips—­who was getting a bit of his own back on Mrs. Pudge—­“I’m using the nautical expression, sir; she failed to get about when that there dawg”—­pointing of stub thumb at heedless dog—­“growled ’cause she has water in the knee.  I’m usin’ a an—­anatomical expression now, sir—­her knee—­this, sir”—­slapping of knee with horny hand of toil—­“The ship’s knees, miss,” addressing Damaris, whose straight brows had almost met in puzzlement, “is a chock on the forepart of the lowermast on which the ’eel—­heel, miss, of the topmast rests.  Yuss, sir.  Her knee may ’ave water in it; but no one couldn’t say the same of her grog.”