nin' to it together."

Captain Cai halted and gazed at his friend with an emotion too deep for
words. But Tobias did not see: he was staring up at a wire which
crossed the street overhead.

"Telephone! What next? . . . You never told me, neither--or not to my
recollection--as you went in for speech-makin'."

"But I don't. I--er--the fact is, I had thoughts of takin' a lesson or
two. Private lessons, you understand."

"You don't need to, so far as I can see. What was it I heard you
tellin' that widow-woman?--'You was made the recipient--of sentiments--
which emanated'--that's the way to talk to 'em in public life.
I can reckernise the lingo, though I couldn' manage it for worlds, an'
don't know as I want to try."

"Troy is my native town, you see," explained Cai, drinking
encouragement.

"An' a rattlin' fine one, too!" Tobias halted in front of a wall
letter-box. "Look at that, now! 'Hours of Collection' so-an'-so.
It _do_ make a difference--fancy a thing o' that sort at sea! . . .
D'ye know, although you never expressed yourself that way, I'd always a
thought at the back o' my head that you'd end by takin' up with public
life in one form or another."

"It _has_ been hinted to me," confessed Cai, colouring. "As one might
say, it has been--er--"

"Emanated," his friend suggested.

"It has been emanated, then--that there was a thing or two wanted
puttin' to rights."

"We'll make notes as we go along."

"But I don't want you to start by lookin' out our little weaknesses!"
cried Cai, suddenly fearful for his beloved town.

Nevertheless he was in the seventh heaven, divining that his friend (so
chary of speech as a rule) had been trying to make amends, to sweep away
the little cloud that for a moment--no more--had crossed their perfect
understanding. 'Bias was here, determined to like Troy: and 'Bias was
succeeding. What else mattered?

"Tidy little trade here," commented 'Bias, as they reached the Passage
Slip and conned the business reach of the river, the vessels alongside
the jetties, the cranes at work, the shipping moored off at the buoys--
vessels of all nations, but mostly Danes and Russians, awaiting their
turn.

"Twenty thousand tons a-month, my boy! See that two-funnelled craft
'longside the second jetty? Six thousand--not a fraction under.
We're things o' the past, you an' me, an' 'twas high time we hauled out
o' the competition."

"China clay?"

"All of it."

"I don't know muc