the lobby. Through the open door he had a view of the
captain lying easy against the pillows. He had "passed away" while Mr.
Burns was taking this observation. As near noon as possible. He had
hardly changed his position.

Mr. Burns sighed, glanced at me inquisitively, as much as to say,
"Aren't you going yet?" and then turned his thoughts from his new
captain back to the old, who, being dead, had no authority, was not in
anybody's way, and was much easier to deal with.

Mr. Burns dealt with him at some length. He was a peculiar man--of
sixty-five about--iron gray, hard-faced, obstinate, and uncommunicative.
He used to keep the ship loafing at sea for inscrutable reasons. Would
come on deck at night sometimes, take some sail off her, God only knows
why or wherefore, then go below, shut himself up in his cabin, and play
on the violin for hours--till daybreak perhaps. In fact, he spent most
of his time day or night playing the violin. That was when the fit took
him. Very loud, too.

It came to this, that Mr. Burns mustered his courage one day and
remonstrated earnestly with the captain. Neither he nor the second mate
could get a wink of sleep in their watches below for the noise. . . .
And how could they be expected to keep awake while on duty? He pleaded.
The answer of that stern man was that if he and the second mate didn't
like the noise, they were welcome to pack up their traps and walk over
the side. When this alternative was offered the ship happened to be 600
miles from the nearest land.

Mr. Burns at this point looked at me with an air of curiosity. I began
to think that my predecessor was a remarkably peculiar old man.

But I had to hear stranger things yet. It came out that this stern,
grim, wind-tanned, rough, sea-salted, taciturn sailor of sixty-five was
not only an artist, but a lover as well. In Haiphong, when they got
there after a course of most unprofitable peregrinations (during which
the ship was nearly lost twice), he got himself, in Mr. Burns' own
words, "mixed up" with some woman. Mr. Burns had had no personal
knowledge of that affair, but positive evidence of it existed in the
shape of a photograph taken in Haiphong. Mr. Burns found it in one of
the drawers in the captain's room.

In due course I, too, saw that amazing human document (I even threw it
overboard later). There he sat, with his hands reposing on his knees,
bald, squat, gray, bristly, recalling a wild boar somehow; and by his
sid