</p> <p> &ldquo;Are you a sailor?&rdquo; I asked the stranger, who had gone back to his position on the rug. </p> <p> &ldquo;I used to be till a couple of years ago, when I got married,&rdquo; answered this communicative individual. &ldquo;I even went to sea first in that very ship we were speaking of when you came in.&rdquo; </p> <p> &ldquo;What ship?&rdquo; I asked, puzzled. &ldquo;I never heard you mention a ship.&rdquo; </p> <p> &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve just told you her name, my dear sir,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;The Apse Family. Surely you&rsquo;ve heard of the great firm of Apse &amp; Sons, shipowners. They had a pretty big fleet. There was the Lucy Apse, and the Harold Apse, and Anne, John, Malcolm, Clara, Juliet, and so on&mdash;no end of Apses. Every brother, sister, aunt, cousin, wife&mdash;and grandmother, too, for all I know&mdash;of the firm had a ship named after them. Good, solid, old-fashioned craft they were, too, built to carry and to last. None of your new-fangled, labour-saving appliances in them, but plenty of men and plenty of good salt beef and hard tack put aboard&mdash;and off you go to fight your way out and home again.&rdquo; </p> <p> The miserable Jermyn made a sound of approval, which sounded like a groan of pain. Those were the ships for him. He pointed out in doleful tones that you couldn&rsquo;t say to labour-saving appliances: &ldquo;Jump lively now, my hearties.&rdquo; No labour-saving appliance would go aloft on a dirty night with the sands under your lee. </p> <p> &ldquo;No,&rdquo; assented the stranger, with a wink at me. &ldquo;The Apses didn&rsquo;t believe in them either, apparently. They treated their people well&mdash;as people don&rsquo;t get treated nowadays, and they were awfully proud of their ships. Nothing ever happened to them. This last one, the Apse Family, was to be like the others, only she was to be still stronger, still safer, still more roomy and comfortable. I believe they meant her to last for ever. They had her built composite&mdash;iron, teak-wood, and greenheart, and her scantling was something fabulous. If ever an order was given for a ship in a spirit of pride this one was. Everything of the best. The commodore captain of the employ was to command her, and they planned the accommodation for him like a house on shore under a big, tall poop that went nearly to the mainmast. No wonder Mrs. Colchester wouldn&rsquo;t let the old man give her up. Why, it was the best home she ever had in all her married days. She had a nerve, that woman. </p> <p> &ldquo;The fuss that was made while that ship was building! Let&rsquo;s have this a little stronger, and that a little heavier; and hadn&rsquo;t that other thing