his whole countenance.

"A gale is a gale, Mr. Jukes," resumed the Captain, "and a full-powered
steam-ship has got to face it. There's just so much dirty weather
knocking about the world, and the proper thing is to go through it with
none of what old Captain Wilson of the Melita calls 'storm strategy.'
The other day ashore I heard him hold forth about it to a lot of
shipmasters who came in and sat at a table next to mine. It seemed to me
the greatest nonsense. He was telling them how he outmanoeuvred, I
think he said, a terrific gale, so that it never came nearer than fifty
miles to him. A neat piece of head-work he called it. How he knew there
was a terrific gale fifty miles off beats me altogether. It was like
listening to a crazy man. I would have thought Captain Wilson was old
enough to know better."

Captain MacWhirr ceased for a moment, then said, "It's your watch below,
Mr. Jukes?"

Jukes came to himself with a start. "Yes, sir."

"Leave orders to call me at the slightest change," said the Captain.
He reached up to put the book away, and tucked his legs upon the couch.
"Shut the door so that it don't fly open, will you? I can't stand a
door banging. They've put a lot of rubbishy locks into this ship, I must
say."

Captain MacWhirr closed his eyes.

He did so to rest himself. He was tired, and he experienced that state
of mental vacuity which comes at the end of an exhaustive discussion