"Have you thought any more of this deal in potatoes I spoke to you
about the other day?"

"No, I haven't," I answered curtly. He checked my movement to rise
by an austere, commanding gesture of the hand holding that fatal
shoe. I remained seated and glared at him. "You know I don't
trade."

"You ought to, Captain. You ought to."

I reflected. If I left that house now I would never see the girl
again. And I felt I must see her once more, if only for an
instant. It was a need, not to be reasoned with, not to be
disregarded. No, I did not want to go away. I wanted to stay for
one more experience of that strange provoking sensation and of
indefinite desire, the habit of which had made me--me of all
people!--dread the prospect of going to sea.

"Mr. Jacobus," I pronounced slowly. "Do you really think that upon
the whole and taking various' matters into consideration--I mean
everything, do you understand?--it would be a good thing for me to
trade, let us say, with you?"

I waited for a while. He went on looking at the shoe which he held
now crushed in the middle, the worn point of the toe and the high
heel protruding on each side of his heavy fist.

"That will be all right," he said, facing me squarely at last.

"Are you sure?"