“Oh, no; a man who calls his yacht _Woman in White_, should have a captain named Wilkie Collins. I searched England and Scotland for one of that name, and couldn’t find him, so I was compelled to compromise, a thing I always dislike doing. My captain’s name is Wilkie, and my chief engineer’s name is Collins, and thus I divide the burden of congruity upon the shoulders of two different men, whereas one would have sufficed if his parents had only exhibited some common sense at his christening. I’d pay any salary in reason for a captain named Wilkie Collins.” “I think I’ll write a book myself, some day,” said the doctor, “and call it ‘The Grievous Worries of a Millionaire.’ Would you object if I took you as my model for my Croesus?” “On the contrary, I should be flattered, and as you progress with the work I may be able to supply you with incidents to weave into your narrative.” Mackeller sat silent while this frivolous conversation went on, and this silence he maintained during the greater part of the voyage. Mackeller’s mind was troubled. He was a serious young man, whose opinions were strongly grounded on common sense, and there were many elements in the situation that gave him just cause for anxiety. When it came down to finalities, he possessed a strong belief in the efficiency of force. So far as his knowledge went, the Lord was always on the side of the biggest battalion. He represented the American confidence in the big stick, the British faith in keeping your powder dry, the German reliance on the mailed fist.