chance. . . .

At this point he stopped with a profound look. The letter, he continued,
was addressed to the Chief Steward. Now what could Captain Ellis, the
Master Attendant, want to write to the Steward for? The fellow went
every morning, anyhow, to the Harbour Office with his report, for orders
or what not. He hadn't been back more than an hour before there was an
office peon chasing him with a note. Now what was that for?

And he began to speculate. It was not for this--and it could not be for
that. As to that other thing it was unthinkable.

The fatuousness of all this made me stare. If the man had not been
somehow a sympathetic personality I would have resented it like an
insult. As it was, I felt only sorry for him. Something remarkably
earnest in his gaze prevented me from laughing in his face. Neither did
I yawn at him. I just stared.

His tone became a shade more mysterious. Directly the fellow (meaning
the Steward) got that note he rushed for his hat and bolted out of the
house. But it wasn't because the note called him to the Harbour Office.
He didn't go there. He was not absent long enough for that. He came
darting back in no time, flung his hat away, and raced about the dining
room moaning and slapping his forehead. All these exciting facts and
manifestations had been observed by Captain Giles. He had, it seems,
been meditating upon them ever since.

I began to pity him profoundly. And in a tone which I tried to make
as little sarcastic as possible I said that I was glad he had found
something to occupy his morning hours.