“Yes, yes,” said Shelf, who didn’t relish this kind of conversation; “but we will come to business, if you please.” “Right you are. Let’s finish floating the swindle.” “Mr. Onslow!” exclaimed the other passionately, “will you never learn to moderate your language? There are a hundred clerks within a hundred feet of you through that door, and sometimes even walls can listen and repeat. Besides, I object altogether to your phraseology. We engage in no such things as swindles in the City. Our operations are all commercial enterprises.” “Very well,” said Onslow, shrugging his shoulders; “don’t let’s squabble over it. You call your spade what you like, only I reserve a right to clap on a plainer brand. We’re built differently, Mr. Shelf. I prefer to be honest in my dishonesty. And now, as I’ve said, let’s get to business. You say the charter of this steamer of yours, the _Port Edes_, has expired, and she is back on your hands. She’s 2000 tons, built under Lloyds’ survey, and classed 100 A1. She’s well engined, and has just been dry-docked. She’ll insure for every sixpence of her value without comment, and there’s nothing more natural than to send out your specie in such a sound bottom. Remains to pick a suitable complement.” “I’ve got a master waiting here now by appointment. His name is Kettle. I have him to a certain extent under my thumb, and I fancy he will prove a reliable man. He was once in our firm’s employment.” “Owen Kettle, by any chance?” Mr. Theodore Shelf referred to a paper on his writing-table. “Captain Owen Kettle, yes. He was the man who lost the _Doge of Venice_, and since then he’s never had another ship.”