"How long would it take," he inquired with a smile, "to put in five years' residence, when I'm in the country about three days every two months? No, I don't think I'll bother about papers. When I say I'm here for keeps, I mean those belonging to me." "There is a question I would like to ask you," I said, tentatively. "I shall be very glad to answer it if I can," he replied. "It refers to your little boys." "Why," he broke in, "they haven't been annoying you, have they? I hope they haven't done that!" "Not at all. I merely had a curiosity to know why they bear such unusual names." He smiled. "They told you their names, did they?" "They were good enough to commend me for the way I played Indian," I explained, and he gave me another of his quick comprehensive glances. "It's rather a long story you've asked for," he said. "I am interested in stories," I put in. "Beppo said you made pictures," he mused. "In words," I added. He paused again. It seemed to be a part of his mode of thinking, this occasional parenthesis of silence. It was almost as though the man were leading me down a vast and dimly-lit corridor, laying his hand at times on various doors, and then withdrawing it, from some mysterious motive, and continuing upon his way. "An author?" he said, half to himself. "Ah!" It was borne in upon me that neither a wide experience in common everyday psychology, nor even an exhaustive knowledge of sea-life could adequately cope with the bewildering emotions implicit in that "Ah!" In its way it was the most remarkable thing he had said. "Yes, if you like," I replied. "I am professionally interested in stories." He felt in his pocket for matches and as the flame spurted before his face I saw the corners of his mouth betrayed a pucker of amusement. I suddenly felt the absurdity of my position. I had been led to expose myself to ridicule. I might have expected it after the behaviour of his children. For a moment I was warm! "You see," he said, looking at his watch, "it's this way. I'm not a very good hand at yarns, but if you like I'll step along to-morrow some time and have a talk. I don't go back to the ship till Sunday night." "We shall be charmed," I said. "Come in to tea." "All right," he answered. "I will. It must be nearly eight bells, I should think, twelve o'clock." I pointed to the Metropolitan Light, glowing a deep red. He regarded it with interest. "Think o' that!" he said, absently. "Just think o' that. Eight bells!" He roused himself. "Well, good-night to you, sir. I must turn in. I always sleep best in the Middle Watch." And he laughed as though at some flash of memory and made his way into the darkened house. CHAPTER VI HE BEGINS HIS TALE