ct. His
long sallow hands were hairless and garnished with several seal-rings,
and on one skinny wrist hung a slave bangle. He had his chair tipped
back against the wall, one leg dangling, the other hooked by the heel
into the cross-bar, while over the raised sharp knee-joint he had draped
his fore-arm. He was talking with great animation, his jaws moving
rapidly like the jaws of a ventriloquist's dummy, which he altogether
resembled, and his toothless gums gave out a hissing lisp. Mr.
Dainopoulos jumped up.

"My dear friend!" he exclaimed, with that faint Latin crow on the upper
register which is so disconcerting to the northerner. He took in the
situation rapidly. It was unusual for him to be ignorant of anything for
long. He very often knew of disasters before the Intelligence
Department, having means that they lacked for gathering news from
obscure sources. He needed no schools of mnemonics to teach him the
inevitable deductions from Mr. Spokesly's queer cap and baggy coat,
while the long strips of plaster made him utter inarticulate sounds of
sympathy.

"Let me introduce you. This is Captain Rannie. He's skipper of my little
ship the _Kalkis_. Captain, I want you to know this gentleman. His
ship's just been sunk."

Even at the moment when he offered a limp hand Captain Rannie did not
raise his eyes above Mr. Spokesly's side pockets, and he lost no time in
resuming the conversation. Mr. Spokesly found that this was one of
Captain Rannie's most notable peculiarities. He had the air of a silent,
reserved man, and he gave one a strong impression of being silent and
reserved since he never divulged anything about himself. Yet he was
always in the midst of an interminable monologue. When you met him he
was talking rapidly in a low, ill-tempered lisping voice, he continued
whether you had business with him or not, and he was still at it when
you bade him good day. He talked extremely well, with a sort of heavy
varnish of culture instead of fine polish, and he took occasional deep
breaths in order to sound his periods correctly. The subjects of his
discourse were two: his own virtues and the sins of everybody else on
earth. Perhaps this was why he was never finished, since both subjects
were inexhaustible. No one had ever given him a fair deal and he had
given up expecting it. There were many things about himself to which he
never alluded, but he gave the impression that in strict justice he
ought to allude to them and