Captain Giles and I got up from the table, and the stranger next to Hamilton followed our example, manoeuvring himself to his feet with difficulty.  He, poor fellow, not because he was hungry but I verily believe only to recover his self-respect, had tried to put some of that unworthy food into his mouth.  But after dropping his fork twice and generally making a failure of it, he had sat still with an air of intense mortification combined with a ghastly glazed stare.  Both Giles and I had avoided looking his way at table.

On the verandah he stopped short on purpose to address to us anxiously a long remark which I failed to understand completely.  It sounded like some horrible unknown language.  But when Captain Giles, after only an instant for reflection, assured him with homely friendliness, “Aye, to be sure.  You are right there,” he appeared very much gratified indeed, and went away (pretty straight, too) to seek a distant long chair.

“What was he trying to say?” I asked with disgust.

“I don’t know.  Mustn’t be down too much on a fellow.  He’s feeling pretty wretched, you may be sure; and to-morrow he’ll feel worse yet.”

Judging by the man’s appearance it seemed impossible.  I wondered what sort of complicated debauch had reduced him to that unspeakable condition.  Captain Giles’ benevolence was spoiled by a curious air of complacency which I disliked.  I said with a little laugh: 

“Well, he will have you to look after him.”  He made a deprecatory gesture, sat down, and took up a paper.  I did the same.  The papers were old and uninteresting, filled up mostly with dreary stereotyped descriptions of Queen Victoria’s first jubilee celebrations.  Probably we should have quickly fallen into a tropical afternoon doze if it had not been for Hamilton’s voice raised in the dining room.  He was finishing his tiffin there.  The big double doors stood wide open permanently, and he could not have had any idea how near to the doorway our chairs were placed.  He was heard in a loud, supercilious tone answering some statement ventured by the Chief Steward.

“I am not going to be rushed into anything.  They will be glad enough to get a gentleman I imagine.  There is no hurry.”

A loud whispering from the Steward succeeded and then again Hamilton was heard with even intenser scorn.

“What?  That young ass who fancies himself for having been chief mate with Kent so long? . . .  Preposterous.”

Giles and I looked at each other.  Kent being the came of my late commander, Captain Giles’ whisper, “He’s talking of you,” seemed to me sheer waste of breath.  The Chief Steward must have stuck to his point, whatever it was, because Hamilton was heard again more supercilious if possible, and also very emphatic: 

“Rubbish, my good man!  One doesn’t compete with a rank outsider like that.  There’s plenty of time.”

Then there were pushing of chairs, footsteps in the next room, and plaintive expostulations from the Steward, who was pursuing Hamilton, even out of doors through the main entrance.