His sociability was most to be dreaded in the second dog-watch, because he was one of those men who grow lively towards the evening, and the officer on duty was unable then to find excuses for leaving the poop.  Captain Johns would pop up the companion suddenly, and, sidling up in his creeping way to poor Bunter, as he walked up and down, would fire into him some spiritualistic proposition, such as: 

“Spirits, male and female, show a good deal of refinement in a general way, don’t they?”

To which Bunter, holding his black-whiskered head high, would mutter: 

“I don’t know.”

“Ah! that’s because you don’t want to.  You are the most obstinate, prejudiced man I’ve ever met, Mr. Bunter.  I told you you may have any book out of my bookcase.  You may just go into my stateroom and help yourself to any volume.”

And if Bunter protested that he was too tired in his watches below to spare any time for reading, Captain Johns would smile nastily behind his back, and remark that of course some people needed more sleep than others to keep themselves fit for their work.  If Mr. Bunter was afraid of not keeping properly awake when on duty at night, that was another matter.

“But I think you borrowed a novel to read from the second mate the other day—­a trashy pack of lies,” Captain Johns sighed.  “I am afraid you are not a spiritually minded man, Mr. Bunter.  That’s what’s the matter.”

Sometimes he would appear on deck in the middle of the night, looking very grotesque and bandy-legged in his sleeping suit.  At that sight the persecuted Bunter would wring his hands stealthily, and break out into moisture all over his forehead.  After standing sleepily by the binnacle, scratching himself in an unpleasant manner, Captain Johns was sure to start on some aspect or other of his only topic.

He would, for instance, discourse on the improvement of morality to be expected from the establishment of general and close intercourse with the spirits of the departed.  The spirits, Captain Johns thought, would consent to associate familiarly with the living if it were not for the unbelief of the great mass of mankind.  He himself would not care to have anything to do with a crowd that would not believe in his—­Captain Johns’—­existence.  Then why should a spirit?  This was asking too much.

He went on breathing hard by the binnacle and trying to reach round his shoulder-blades; then, with a thick, drowsy severity, declared: 

“Incredulity, sir, is the evil of the age!”

It rejected the evidence of Professor Cranks and of the journalist chap.  It resisted the production of photographs.

For Captain Johns believed firmly that certain spirits had been photographed.  He had read something of it in the papers.  And the idea of it having been done had got a tremendous hold on him, because his mind was not critical.  Bunter said afterwards that nothing could be more weird than this little man, swathed in a sleeping suit three sizes too large for him, shuffling with excitement in the moonlight near the wheel, and shaking his fist at the serene sea.