“Don’t waste, and, at the same time, don’t pinch,” continued Mr. Robert, oracularly. “That’s business in a nutshell,” commented the captain. “Don’t spoil the ship for a ha’porth of tar, and, on the other hand, don’t get leaving the tar about for other people to sit on.” “But you got it off,” said Robert, flushing. “You told me you had.” “As far as tar ever can be got off,” asserted the captain, gloomily. “Yes. Why I put my best trousers on this morning,” he continued, in a tone of vague wonder, “I’m sure I don’t know. It was meant to be, I suppose; it’s all for some wise purpose that we don’t know of.” “Wise fiddlesticks!” exclaimed Robert, shortly—“Your particular brand of fatalism is the most extraordinary nonsense I ever heard of. What it means is that thousands of years ago, or millions, perhaps, was decided that I should be born on purpose to tar your blessed trousers.” “That and other things,” said the immovable captain. “It’s all laid down for us, everything we do, and we can’t help doing it. When I put on those trousers this morning—” “Oh, hang your trousers,” said Robert. “You said it didn’t matter, and you’ve been talking about nothing else ever since.” “I won’t say another word about it,” said the captain. “I remember the last pair I had done; a pair o’ white ducks. My steward it was; one o’ those silly, fat-headed, staring-eyed, garping—” “Go on,” said the other, grimly. “Nice, bright young fellows,” concluded the captain, hastily; “he got on very well, I believe.” “After he left you, I suppose?” said Mr. Vyner, smoothly. “Yes,” said the innocent captain. He caught a glance of the other’s face and ruminated. “After I had broken him of his silly habits,” he added. He walked along smiling, and, raising his cap with a flourish, beamed in a fatherly manner on a girl who was just passing. Robert replaced his hat and glanced over his left shoulder. “Who is that?” he inquired. “I saw her the other day; her face seems familiar to me.” “Joan Hartley,” replied the captain. “Nathaniel Hartley’s daughter. To my mind, the best and prettiest girl in Salthaven.” “Eh?” said the other, staring. “Hartley’s daughter? Why, I should have thought—” “Yes, sir?” said Captain Trimblett, after a pause. “Nothing,” concluded Robert, lamely. “She doesn’t look like it; that’s all.” “She’s got his nose,” maintained the captain, with the obstinate air of a man prepared to go to the stake for his opinions. “Like as two peas their noses are; you’d know them for father and daughter anywhere by that alone.” Mr. Vyner assented absently. He was wondering where the daughter of the chief clerk got her high looks from. “Very clever girl,” continued the captain. “She got a scholarship and went to college, and then, when her poor mother died, Hartley was so lonely that she gave it all up and came home to keep house for him.” “Quite a blue-stocking,” suggested Robert.