It was imparted to me in a low voice by Captain Giles that this was an officer of some Rajah’s yacht which had come into our port to be dry-docked.  Must have been “seeing life” last night, he added, wrinkling his nose in an intimate, confidential way which pleased me vastly.  For Captain Giles had prestige.  He was credited with wonderful adventures and with some mysterious tragedy in his life.  And no man had a word to say against him.  He continued: 

“I remember him first coming ashore here some years ago.  Seems only the other day.  He was a nice boy.  Oh! these nice boys!”

I could not help laughing aloud.  He looked startled, then joined in the laugh.  “No!  No!  I didn’t mean that,” he cried.  “What I meant is that some of them do go soft mighty quick out here.”

Jocularly I suggested the beastly heat as the first cause.  But Captain Giles disclosed himself possessed of a deeper philosophy.  Things out East were made easy for white men.  That was all right.  The difficulty was to go on keeping white, and some of these nice boys did not know how.  He gave me a searching look, and in a benevolent, heavy-uncle manner asked point blank: 

“Why did you throw up your berth?”

I became angry all of a sudden; for you can understand how exasperating such a question was to a man who didn’t know.  I said to myself that I ought to shut up that moralist; and to him aloud I said with challenging politeness: 

“Why . . . ?  Do you disapprove?”

He was too disconcerted to do more than mutter confusedly:  “I! . . .  In a general way. . .” and then gave me up.  But he retired in good order, under the cover of a heavily humorous remark that he, too, was getting soft, and that this was his time for taking his little siesta—­when he was on shore.  “Very bad habit.  Very bad habit.”

There was a simplicity in the man which would have disarmed a touchiness even more youthful than mine.  So when next day at tiffin he bent his head toward me and said that he had met my late Captain last evening, adding in an undertone:  “He’s very sorry you left.  He had never had a mate that suited him so well,” I answered him earnestly, without any affectation, that I certainly hadn’t been so comfortable in any ship or with any commander in all my sea-going days.

“Well—­then,” he murmured.

“Haven’t you heard, Captain Giles, that I intend to go home?”

“Yes,” he said benevolently.  “I have heard that sort of thing so often before.”

“What of that?” I cried.  I thought he was the most dull, unimaginative man I had ever met.  I don’t know what more I would have said, but the much-belated Hamilton came in just then and took his usual seat.  So I dropped into a mumble.

“Anyhow, you shall see it done this time.”

Hamilton, beautifully shaved, gave Captain Giles a curt nod, but didn’t even condescend to raise his eyebrows at me; and when he spoke it was only to tell the Chief Steward that the food on his plate wasn’t fit to be set before a gentleman.  The individual addressed seemed much too unhappy to groan.  He cast his eyes up to the punkah and that was all.