must say . . . I don't. . . ."

"He's my husband," she announced in a great shout, throwing herself
back in the chair. Perceiving the joke, she laughed immoderately with a
handkerchief to her eyes, while he sat wearing a forced smile, and,
from his inexperience of jolly women, fully persuaded that she must
be deplorably insane. They were excellent friends afterwards; for,
absolving her from irreverent intention, he came to think she was a
very worthy person indeed; and he learned in time to receive without
flinching other scraps of Solomon's wisdom.

"For my part," Solomon was reported by his wife to have said once, "give
me the dullest ass for a skipper before a rogue. There is a way to
take a fool; but a rogue is smart and slippery." This was an airy
generalization drawn from the particular case of Captain MacWhirr's
honesty, which, in itself, had the heavy obviousness of a lump of clay.
On the other hand, Mr. Jukes, unable to generalize, unmarried, and
unengaged, was in the habit of opening his heart after another fashion
to an old chum and former shipmate, actually serving as second officer
on board an Atlantic liner.

First of all he would insist upon the advantages of the Eastern trade,
hinting at its superiority to the Western ocean service. He extolled
the sky, the seas, the ships, and the easy life of the Far East. The
Nan-Shan, he affirmed, was second to none as a sea-boat.

"We have no brass-bound uniforms, but then we are like brothers here,"
he wrote. "We all mess together and live like fighting-cocks. . . . All
the chaps of the black-squad are as decent as they make that kind, and
old Sol, the Chief, is a dry stick. We are good friends. As to our old
man, you could not find a quieter skipper. Sometimes you would think he
hadn't sense enough to see anything wrong. And yet it isn't that. Can't
be. He has been in command for a good few years now. He doesn't do
anything actually foolish, and gets his ship along all right without
worrying anybody. I believe he hasn't brains enough to enjoy kicking
up a row. I don't take advantage of him. I would scorn it. Outside the
routine of duty he doesn't seem to understand more than half of what you
tell him. We get a laugh out of this at times; but it is dull, too, to
be with a man like this--in the long-run. Old Sol says he hasn't much
conversation. Conversation! O Lord! He never talks. The other day I had
been yarning under the bridge with one of the engineers, and