only been able to hear and understand, than by the tone of deep
conviction in which my elderly, respectable seaman repeated the
first part of his saying, "Ships are all right . . ."

His civility prevented him from repeating the other, the bitter
part. It had occurred to him that it was perhaps indelicate to
insist. He had recognised in me a ship's officer, very possibly
looking for a berth like himself, and so far a comrade, but still a
man belonging to that sparsely-peopled after-end of a ship, where a
great part of her reputation as a "good ship," in seaman's
parlance, is made or marred.

"Can you say that of all ships without exception?" I asked, being
in an idle mood, because, if an obvious ship's officer, I was not,
as a matter of fact, down at the docks to "look for a berth," an
occupation as engrossing as gambling, and as little favourable to
the free exchange of ideas, besides being destructive of the kindly
temper needed for casual intercourse with one's fellow-creatures.

"You can always put up with 'em," opined the respectable seaman
judicially.

He was not averse from talking, either. If he had come down to the
dock to look for a berth, he did not seem oppressed by anxiety as
to his chances. He had the serenity of a man whose estimable
character is fortunately expressed by his personal appearance in an
unobtrusive, yet convincing, manner which no chief officer in want
of hands could resist. And, true enough, I learned presently that
the mate of the Hyperion had "taken down" his name for quarter-
master. "We sign on Friday, and join next day for the morning