“I don’t know. Mustn’t be down too much on a fellow. He’s feeling pretty wretched, you may be sure; and to-morrow he’ll feel worse yet.” Judging by the man’s appearance it seemed impossible. I wondered what sort of complicated debauch had reduced him to that unspeakable condition. Captain Giles’ benevolence was spoiled by a curious air of complacency which I disliked. I said with a little laugh: “Well, he will have you to look after him.” He made a deprecatory gesture, sat down, and took up a paper. I did the same. The papers were old and uninteresting, filled up mostly with dreary stereotyped descriptions of Queen Victoria’s first jubilee celebrations. Probably we should have quickly fallen into a tropical afternoon doze if it had not been for Hamilton’s voice raised in the dining room. He was finishing his tiffin there. The big double doors stood wide open permanently, and he could not have had any idea how near to the doorway our chairs were placed. He was heard in a loud, supercilious tone answering some statement ventured by the Chief Steward. “I am not going to be rushed into anything. They will be glad enough to get a gentleman I imagine. There is no hurry.” A loud whispering from the Steward succeeded and then again Hamilton was heard with even intenser scorn. “What? That young ass who fancies himself for having been chief mate with Kent so long? . . . Preposterous.” Giles and I looked at each other. Kent being the name of my late commander, Captain Giles’ whisper, “He’s talking of you,” seemed to me sheer waste of breath. The Chief Steward must have stuck to his point, whatever it was, because Hamilton was heard again more supercilious if possible, and also very emphatic: “Rubbish, my good man! One doesn’t _compete_ with a rank outsider like that. There’s plenty of time.” Then there were pushing of chairs, footsteps in the next room, and plaintive expostulations from the Steward, who was pursuing Hamilton, even out of doors through the main entrance. “That’s a very insulting sort of man,” remarked Captain Giles--superfluously, I thought. “Very insulting. You haven’t offended him in some way, have you?” “Never spoke to him in my life,” I said grumpily. “Can’t imagine what he means by competing. He has been trying for my job after I left--and didn’t get it. But that isn’t exactly competition.” Captain Giles balanced his big benevolent head thoughtfully. “He didn’t get it,” he repeated very slowly. “No, not likely either, with Kent. Kent is no end sorry you left him. He gives you the name of a good seaman, too.” I flung away the paper I was still holding. I sat up, I slapped the table with my open palm. I wanted to know why he would keep harping on that, my absolutely private affair. It was exasperating, really.