His attack upon the skipper was so sudden that Crojack staggered back a pace or two in amazement and stared with open-eyed wonder at the little man, while his features worked convulsively as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or throw his guest overboard. “Come, come, sir; I can’t waste all the morning here. Do you see that flag, sir?” and he pointed to the British ensign that hung in folds from his vessel’s peak. “That is her Majesty’s flag, sir, and I’m her Majesty’s most humble servant, though a most uncommon man, sir; and if there’s anything I can do for you, sing out. Don’t stand there staring at me, sir. There’s nothing aggravates me so, sir, as to have a man stare at me. Come, come, don’t be afraid of me,” and he held out his hand in a friendly manner. “Gee-whillikins!” gasped Crojack. “Nothing of the kind, sir; not at all. Lionel Webster, if you please, and an extraordinary man in some respects, if I do venture to say so myself. Come, come, don’t be afraid. But, ah! Maybe the subject will not bear discussion before the ladies, in which case we’ll go below, sir; yes, sir, quite out of sight, sir,” and he grasped Crojack’s hand and led him like a man who is not quite awake down the companionway into the after cabin. As they disappeared, I turned to meet Garnett, who, with O’Toole, had stood silently watching the skippers in order to render any assistance if necessary. “Well, well, ’pon me whurd, for a fact! So it’s you, you old bald-headed, bow-legged bean-swiller. Sure, there’s no mistaking that stove-in figurehead av yourn. Say, but I’m glad t’ see ye again, messmate. My, how it brings back the times we windjammers used t’ have together, ’mongst th’ archipelagoes. Well, well, ’pon me whurd, how is it you are afloat again, an’ on a bloody Johnnie Bull at that?” “Don’t meddle with family affairs, shipmate. If a respectable married man chooses to follow the sea for a living, why, there it is. There is no more pious calling than a mate’s, as you might know yourself. But by the eternal thunder! I wonder they allow a man with a head like yours aboard a vessel carrying soft coal and oil in bulk. May the eternal fire swinge me, but you are a freckle-faced, red-headed bulldog-- “You say you’re for China?” Then he turned to me. “Ah, Mr. Gore, blast me, but it does me good to get amongst the old crowd. Seems like we’ll have a spell o’ weather, hey?” and the old mate mopped his bald head with a dirty red handkerchief. I shook hands with him and told him I was glad to see him again, for, although he was an old man, he was active yet, and knew more about handling square canvas than any man living. I’m not a man to bemoan my luck, like nearly all sailors, and when I find I’m down I make the best of it. So when old Bill Garnett--who had been mate with my father a score of years before--looked askance at me and called me Mr. instead of captain, knowing my rating, I shook his hand and sat beside him on the main hatch.