"Rubbish, my good man! One doesn't _compete_ with a rank outsider like
that. There's plenty of time."

Then there were pushing of chairs, footsteps in the next room, and
plaintive expostulations from the Steward, who was pursuing Hamilton,
even out of doors through the main entrance.

"That's a very insulting sort of man," remarked Captain
Giles--superfluously, I thought. "Very insulting. You haven't offended
him in some way, have you?"

"Never spoke to him in my life," I said grumpily. "Can't imagine what
he means by competing. He has been trying for my job after I left--and
didn't get it. But that isn't exactly competition."

Captain Giles balanced his big benevolent head thoughtfully. "He didn't
get it," he repeated very slowly. "No, not likely either, with Kent.
Kent is no end sorry you left him. He gives you the name of a good
seaman, too."

I flung away the paper I was still holding. I sat up, I slapped the
table with my open palm. I wanted to know why he would keep harping on
that, my absolutely private affair. It was exasperating, really.

Captain Giles silenced me by the perfect equanimity of his gaze.
"Nothing to be annoyed about," he murmured reasonably, with an evident
desire to soothe the childish irritation he had aroused. And he was
really a man of an appearance so inoffensive that I tried to explain
myself as much as I could. I told him that I did not want to hear