ng hat that had once been white; gaping away from his hairy chest
was a faded dingy checked cotton shirt that had once been brown and
white; his blue trousers were spotted and splashed with dusty stains; he
was chewing tobacco. A figure more in contrast to the exquisitely neat
vessel it would be hard to imagine.

The captain mounted the gangplank with a steadiness that disproved my
first suspicion of his having been on a drunk. He glanced aloft, cast a
speculative eye on the stevedores trooping across the waist of the ship,
and ascended to the quarter-deck where the mate stood leaning over the
rail and uttering directed curses from between sweat-beaded lips. There
the big man roamed aimlessly on what seemed to be a tour of casual
inspection. Once he stopped to breathe on the brass binnacle and to rub
it bright with the dirtiest red bandana handkerchief I ever want to see.

His actions amused me. The discrepancy between his personal habits and
his particularity in the matter of his surroundings was exceedingly
interesting. I have often noticed that such discrepancies seem to
indicate exceptional characters. As I watched him, his whole frame
stiffened. The long gorilla arms contracted, the hairy head sunk forward
in the tenseness of a serpent ready to strike. He uttered a shrill
falsetto shriek that brought to a standstill every stevedore on the job;
and sprang forward to seize his mate by, the shoulder.

Evidently the grasp hurt. I can believe it might, from those huge hands.
The man wrenched himself about with an oath of inquiry and pain. I could
hear one side of what followed. The captain's high-pitched tones carried
clearly; but the grumble and growl of the mate were indistinguishable at
that distance.

"How far is it to the side of the ship, you hound of hell?" shrieked the
captain.

Mumble--surprised--for an answer.

"Well, I'll tell you, you _swab_! It's just two fathom from where
you stand. Just two fathom! How long would it take you to walk there? How
long? Just about six seconds! There and back! You--" I won't bother with
all the epithets, although by now I know Captain Selover's vocabulary
fairly well. "And you couldn't take six seconds off to spit over the
side! Couldn't walk two fathom! Had to spit on my quarter-deck, did you!"

Rumble from the mate.

"No, by God, you won't call up any of the crew. You'll get a swab and do
it yourself. You'll get a _hand_ swab and get down on your knees,
damn you! I'