n his
cheeks, and a sharp, thin nose jutted out over one of those heavy grey
moustaches that get into the soup and make the owner look like a hungry
walrus. He might have been rich, as they said he was, and he might have
been clever in days gone by; but as I knew him he was a faded, soiled
ghost of a man, a man preoccupied with the dirty pickings of life, just
as his wife, strong character as I knew her to be, was only a drunken
parody of her real self, a shrewd, calculating, good-hearted,
bad-principled old failure.

"Mr. Hank sat in his cabin, talking to a young fellow in American
clothes and French boots, who was, I could see, one of those shady
characters who tout for ship-chandlers, whose business makes them
toadies, sycophants and pandars. There is something detestable about the
ship-chandlering trade, somehow. You see them lick-spittling the old
man, taking him ashore if he is a stranger, bringing boxes of candy for
his wife if he has her on board, sending a boat every day, for his
convenience, and so on, and then, when the ship's stores are rushed on
board at the last moment, and you put to sea, the stuff turns out to be
bad or short. The flour is damp and won't rise, the potatoes are a
scratch lot, the meat poor and the fruit rotten. And the Old Man says
nothing, the steward says nothing, because they've been squared, and
after all it's only the crew who really suffer, because the captain has
his own private stock, which Mister steward shares, you may be sure. It
is a dirty business and the sight of those sleek, cunning, pimple-faced
young men, in their fancy vests and dirty cuffs, always sickens me,
because I know the knavery in their hearts.

"'Come in, come in,' said Mr. Hank, as I turned away from his door.

"'No,' I said. 'I'll wait till you are through, Mr. Hank.'

"'Nonsense, come in,' said he. 'This is only Mr. Sachs, representing
Babbolini's. He won't eat you,' he said.

"I came back at this, and stood at the door to let a crowd of bedroom
stewards with sheets go by. 'It would take a better man than him to eat
me, Mr. Hank.'

"Mr. Sachs smiled politely and made room for me on the settee, evidently
having no cannibal intentions at the time, or at any rate disguising
them. Offered me a cigarette, which I never smoke. Said it was a fine
day.

"'It was a private matter I wanted to speak about,' I said to Hank, who
looked at me with an expression of eternal anxiety in his prominent
eyes.

"'I kno