The man looked up and pointed at the quay-door, which stood open,
with threads of light wavering over its surface. Beyond it, against
an oblong of green water, rocked a small yacht's mast.

"He's down on the yacht there. Shall I say you want en?"

"No." The stranger stepped to the quay-door and looked down the
ladder. On the deck below him stood a man about his own age and
proportions, fitting a block. His flannel shirt hung loosely about a
magnificent pair of shoulders, and was tucked up at the sleeves,
about the bulge of his huge forearms. He wore no cap, and as he
stooped the light wind puffed back his hair, which was grey and fine.

"Hi, there--William Dendle!"

"Hullo!" The man looked up quickly.

"Can you spare a word? Don't trouble to come up--I'll climb down to
you."

He went down the ladder carefully, hugging the band-box in his left
arm.

"You disremember me, I dessay," he began, as he stood on the yacht's
deck.

"Well, I do, to be sure. Oughtn't to, though, come to look on your
size."

"Samuel Badgery's my name. You an' me had a hitch to wrestlin',