“I’m going to forget it also, if you’ll prove yourself a sensible man, and deal amicably with Mr. Shelf and myself. I’m also going to forget that when you were shipping rice for Calcutta in ’82 you rented mats you called your own to the consignor, and made a tidy penny out of that; and I shall similarly let slip from my memory a trifling squeeze of eight hundred dollars which you made out of a stevedore in New Orleans, before you let him touch your ship, in the fall of ’82.” “You can’t make anything out of those,” said Kettle. “They’re the ordinary customs of the trade.” “Shipmasters’ perquisites for which owners pay? Exactly. I know some skippers consider these trifles to be their lawful right. But a court of law might be ignorant enough to set them down as robbery.” “I should like to know where you’ve got all these things from,” Captain Kettle demanded, facing Onslow, with his lean scraggy neck thrust forth nearly a foot from its stepping. “I should like to know, too, how you’re here? I’d a fancy you were dead.” “Other people have labored under that impression. But I’ve an awkward knack of keeping alive. You’ve the same. The faculty may prove useful to us both in the course of the next month, if you’re not ass enough to refuse £500.” “Ho! That’s the game we’ve got bent, is it? What old wind-jammer do you want me to lose now?” “Sir!” thundered Shelf, lifting his voice for the first time. “This is pretty language. I would have you remember that but a short time ago you were in my employ.” “And a fat lot of good it did me,” retorted the sailor. “But,” he added, with the sudden recollection that it is never wise of a master mariner to irritate any shipowner, “but, sir, I wasn’t talking to you. I fancied it was Mr. Onslow here who was wanting to deal with me.” “Then your fancy carried you astray, captain,” said Shelf. “Come, come, don’t let’s get angry with one another. As I repeatedly impress on all who come in contact with me, there is never any good born out of words voiced in anger. Mr. Onslow has seen fit to mention a few of your—shall I say—eccentricities, just to show—er—that we understand one another.” “To show he’s got his knife in me, Mr. Shelf, and can wraggle it if he chooses.” “What a fractious pepper-box it is!” said Onslow, with a laugh. “Man, dear, if I’ve got to be shipmate with you for a solid month, d’ye think I’d put your back up more than’s necessary? If you remember me at all, you must know I’m the deuce of a stickler for my own personal comfort and convenience. You can bet I haven’t been talking at you through gratuitous cruelty. But Mr. Shelf and I have got a yarn to bring out directly, which is a bit of a coarse, tough-fibered yarn, and we didn’t want you to give it a top-dressing of varnish. So, by way of safeguard, I pointed out to you that if we show ourselves to be sinners, you needn’t sing out that you find yourself in evil company for the first time.”