“Orders!” growled Simpson. “That's all right. He can hitch his hawser to a porpoise, if he's ordered. What's my business? That ain't. But what does the Government do next? Why they commissions the porpoise. _Course_, they do. It's politics. Makes volunteer naval officers as don't know a shell from a round shot till it busts in their ear. An' that ain't my business either. Oh, no!” “Easy, gunner, easy,” said Gerry, who was a slow, heavy man. “I don't know see'et orders natchully, but I hears talk. I hears like this. I hears this boat's offered the Gove'nment by parties for a birthday present, supposin' Cavarly's cap'n an' the Gove'nment fits her out. An' the Gove'nment says, 'Hum.' says he, 'is he competent?' 'None better,' says they, 'for coast sailin'. 'An' there's Dan Morgan,' says they, 'sailed the Delaware an' southe'n tidewater these twenty years.' 'But,' says the Gove'nment, 'there might be a disagreement with the enemy,' says he, speakin' sa'castic. 'There you have us,' says the parties. 'Give him a master-at-arms an' gunners.' 'Ah!' says the Gove'nment. 'Jus' so. Take Simpson,' says he, an' cuts a caper, bein' that pleased. Now I asks, what's t'oublin' you? Ain't you competent? Ain't the cap'n standin' off an' givin' you free board? Ain't you as good as a commissioned officer, barrin' fo'c'stle bunk? What's t'oublin' you? That's what I asks.” Simpson grumbled, but in a mollified way. “I ain't sayin' he can't handle the ship.” “Cap'n Cavarly,” said Hames, “is a good man I make no doubts, an' comin' from Maryland his principles is a credit to him.” “I come from Maryland.” “Sartain, sartain,” said Hames, soothingly, “an' your principles is a credit to you.” “Glad o' that,” said Gerry in his heavy manner. “But,” Hames went on, “who's this here Calhoun? Tell me that.” “I do' know.” “That's the point. A chap in gen'le-man's shore clothes, occupies a cabin an' no words. Goes snoopin' round like he owned the airth. Looks like a summer boarder. That's what I don't like. The cap'n an' the mate, they's pleasant chaps. I ain't down on 'em. But they're keerless, ain't they? Playin' banjos an' smokin' seegars. They ain't suspicious. 'Taint their natur'. Fellow comes along, seegars in both pockets, playin' the banjo with his elbow. Maybe he says he wants to write a book for the glory of his ken-try. Maybe he lies. Acts friendly anyhow. Cap'n asks him to jine 'em, bein' keerless an' happy, thinkin' it might be a good thing for the glory of his kentry. How do we know, you an' me?” “Don't know,” murmured Gerry. “Cap'n's business. “Calhoun!” said Simpson angrily. He'd better not come Calhounin' round me.”