For a ship, ye'll obsairve, Miss Frazier, is in no sense a reegid
body, closed at both ends. She's a highly complex structure o' various
an' conflictin' strains, wi' tissues that must give an' tak' accordin'
to her personal modulus of eelasteecity." Mr. Buchanan, the chief
engineer, in his blue coat with gilt buttons, was coming toward them.
"I'm sayin' to Miss Frazier, here, that our little 'Dimbula' has to be
sweetened yet, and nothin' but a gale will do it. How's all wi' your
engines, Buck?"

"Well enough--true by plumb an' rule, of course; but there's no
spontaneeity yet." He turned to the girl. "Take my word, Miss
Frazier, and maybe ye'll comprehend later, even after a pretty girl's
christened a ship it does not follow that there's such a thing as a
ship under the men that work her."

"I was sayin' the very same, Mr. Buchanan," the skipper interrupted.

"That's more metaphysical than I can follow," said Miss Frazier,
laughing.

"Why so? Ye're good Scotch, an'--I knew your mother's father; he was
fra' Dumfries--ye've a vested right in metapheesics, Miss Frazier,
just as ye have in the 'Dimbula,'" the engineer said.

"Eh, well, we must go down to the deep watters, an' earn Miss Frazier
her deevidends. Will you not come to my cabin for tea?" said the
skipper. "We'll be in dock the night, and when you're goin' back to
Glasgie ye can think of us loadin' her down an' drivin' her forth--all
for your sake."