"Supposing," he said, over his shoulder, "supposing you pull this ship
through all right, then where will you be? Any better off?"

"I think so," said Hanson. He couldn't talk to Macandrew's back, so he
bent over me and pointed a challenging finger at my necktie. "I've never
risked anything yet, not even my job. This is where I do it. It'll be
nice to attempt something when the odds are that you can't finish it, and
there's nothing much in it if you do. Why," he said, grinning at his
Chief's back, "if I were to stay with him I'd become so normal that I'd
slip into marriage and safety as a matter of course, and have to give up
everything."

"Who's in charge of this lunacy?" asked Macandrew. His voice was a
little truculent.

"All right, Chief. I shan't remember his name any the better because
you're annoyed with me. I haven't seen the skipper yet. I think I heard
him called Purdy."

"Purdy? Bill Purdy?" Macandrew was incredulous. "Do you know what
you've let yourself in for? If Purdy's got the job, I know why. Nobody
else would take it, and he's the last man, anyway, who ought to have it."

"What, drink?" asked Hanson.

"Lord, no. Not Purdy. No. It's the man himself. I've known him a long
time, and I like him, but he'll never do. He can't make up his mind to a
course. Don't you remember the _Campeachy_ case? I expect it was before
your time. Purdy had her. He was coming up-Channel, and got nervous
over the weather, and put into Portland for a pilot. There was no pilot.