“Man, we were not settin’ down to drink,” he said. “They no more than made us wutty. To be sure, young Bannister laid his head on the table an’ greeted like a bairn, an’ Calder was all for callin’ on Steiner at two in the morn an’ painting him galley-green; but they’d been drinkin’ the afternoon. Lord, how they twa cursed the Board, an’ the _Grotkau_, an’ the tail-shaft, an’ the engines, an’ a’! They didna talk o’ superfeecial flaws that night. I mind young Bannister an’ Calder shakin’ hands on a bond to be revenged on the Board at ony reasonable cost this side o’ losing their certificates. Now mark ye how false economy ruins business. The Board fed them like swine (I have good reason to know it), an’ I’ve obsairved wi’ my ain people that if ye touch his stomach ye wauken the deil in a Scot. Men will tak’ a dredger across the Atlantic if they’re well fed, an’ fetch her somewhere on the broadside o’ the Americas; but bad food’s bad service the warld over. “The bill went to McRimmon, an’ he said no more to me till the week-end, when I was at him for more paint, for we’d heard the _Kite_ was chartered Liverpool-side. ‘Bide whaur ye’re put,’ said the Blind Deevil. ‘Man, do ye wash in champagne? The _Kite’s_ no leavin’ here till I gie the order, an’—how am I to waste paint on her, wi’ the _Lammergeyer_ docked for who knows how long an’ a’?’ “She was our big freighter—McIntyre was engineer—an’ I knew she’d come from overhaul not three months. That morn I met McRimmon’s head-clerk—ye’ll not know him—fair bitin’ his nails off wi’ mortification. “‘The auld man’s gone gyte,’ says he. ‘He’s withdrawn the _Lammergeyer_.’ “‘Maybe he has reasons,’ says I. “‘Reasons! He’s daft!’ “‘He’ll no be daft till he begins to paint,’ I said. “‘That’s just what he’s done—and South American freights higher than we’ll live to see them again. He’s laid her up to paint her—to paint her—to paint her!’ says the little clerk, dancin’ like a hen on a hot plate. ‘Five thousand ton o’ potential freight rottin’ in drydock, man; an’ he dolin’ the paint out in quarter-pound tins, for it cuts him to the heart, mad though he is. An’ the _Grotkau_—the _Grotkau_ of all conceivable bottoms—soaking up every pound that should be ours at Liverpool!’ “I was staggered wi’ this folly—considerin’ the dinner at Radley’s in connection wi’ the same. “‘Ye may well stare, McPhee,’ says the head-clerk. ‘There’s engines, an’ rollin’ stock, an’ iron bridges—d’ye know what freights are noo? an’ pianos, an’ millinery, an’ fancy Brazil cargo o’ every species pourin’ into the _Grotkau_—the _Grotkau_ o’ the Jerusalem firm—and the _Lammergeyer_’s bein’ painted!’ “Losh, I thought he’d drop dead wi’ the fits.