n myself. I
find I am less bilious on two meals a day. And anyhow, after that, I
couldn't possibly eat anything."

And he coughed himself out of the door.

Mr. Dainopoulos stared after him, his features destitute of any emotion
at all. Captain Rannie halted, turned half round, and it almost seemed
as though for once in his life he was going to raise his eyes and look
somebody square in the face. But he paused at the second button of his
owner's waistcoat and nodded several times, his toothless mouth open, a
perfect ventriloquist's dummy.

"I'll have indigestion for a fortnight," he said. "Absolutely." And he
started off again, the plum-coloured handkerchief to his face, his
shoulders heaving, making a noise like a foundered horse.

"What's the matter with him?" Mr. Spokesly felt justified in asking.

"He's an old bum!" said Mr. Dainopoulos with a gloomy air, but made no
further allusion to the bronchial troubles of his captain. The fact was,
as Mr. Spokesly became aware in time, that Mr. Dainopoulos, in the
course of his many negotiations, was obliged to entrust some of the
business to his employees. And a stroke of business entirely correct to
him did not make that impression upon Captain Rannie, who was under the
illusion that he himself was the soul of honour. So he was, in theory.
When Captain Rannie did a mean and dishonourable action, it bore to him
the aspect of an act of singular rectitude. And he promptly forgot all
about it. He wiped it out of his mind as off a slate. It was gone; had
never existed, in fact. For the exploits of others, however, he not only
never left off thinking about them, but he could not be induced to
refrain from discussing them, for ever and ever. Anyone who had ever had
any dealings with him would find him an embarrassing witness at the Day
of Judgment, if we are correct in assuming that witnesses will be
called. Mr. Dainopoulos could not afford to quarrel with him, but he
sometimes wished he had a more amiable disposition, and could get on
better with his crew. And he felt for him also the puzzled contempt
which men of affairs feel for the sensualist. An elderly man who, as Mr.
Dainopoulos had heard, had a wife somewhere and a married daughter
somewhere else, and who was continually engaged in some shabby
unmentionable intrigue, made one feel a little uncomfortable and
slightly ashamed of one's species. Captain Rannie's view of his own
conduct was not available, for he never by an