Inman, too, without the effort of conscious thought, had known that his master was about to bend his head to the yoke; had been so convinced of it from reliable inward witness that he had allowed his whole manner to forestall the consummation and thereby jeopardise it. Even now, so accustomed had he become to the foretaste of success and the realisation of his strength, he hardly troubled to stoop to conciliate, choosing to regard the outburst as a mere ebullition of temper that would expend itself as quickly as a child’s squib. “I meant no offence,” he said without warmth; “and of course you can please yourself about the money.” “Can I?” interrupted Baldwin, in quite his old style. He was surprised at his own boldness, but was aware of an exhilaration to which he had been a stranger for some weeks. It was as though some force outside his own volition was egging him on to resist the cynical adviser, and abide by the threat he had expressed to get rid of him. It was seldom that his brain evolved a metaphor; but that of Jonah which had flashed across his mind like an inspiration held him with a force that seemed to him almost supernatural and that gave him new courage. “Can I?” he repeated, frowning portentously at his companion. “I can please myself! Well, that’s something to be thankful for, choose how!”—his slow wits were still turning over the image that had startled them—“I reckon I’m master o’ t’ ship even if t’ ship is sinking, and I can chuck Jonah overboard if I like——” He was trying to hold the conversation and examine this new thought at the same time, and he found the task beyond his powers. The suggestion that he should dismiss Inman—send him about his business as abruptly as he had engaged him—was clamouring for acceptance, and he was trying to weigh it, instead of risking the hazard. “Every bit o’ ill-luck there’s been came wi’ you; and I’m hanged if I’ve a spoon ’at’s long enough to sup wi’ t’ devil. You can clear out, I tell you, wi’ your ‘cans’ and your ‘please yourselves,’ and I’ll go see Green and a toathri more myself and maybe patch matters up wi’ ’em. I’ve been a damned fool ’at I haven’t done it afore.” Why the thought of Maniwel insisted on obtruding itself Baldwin could not explain, but so it was. The fact irritated him with the vague feeling that it had a meaning he could not interpret. The long and hesitating harangue had not been unwelcome to Inman, who had been sending out thought-scouts in all directions during its progress, and had determined on his line of action. “I suppose I’m a damned fool too,” he said cunningly, and with no sudden change of tone to quicken the other’s suspicions. “What with the worry of the business and anxiety over Nancy——” the softening of voice that the mention of his wife’s name occasioned could not be misunderstood—“to say nothing of the row I had with Jagger only last night ’ud drive most men off their heads, let alone making ’em a bit ill-tempered.”