Captain," said Gissing. "I have come to sea to study theology."

In spite of himself the Captain was touched by this amazing statement.
He was a Scot, as we have said. He poured a cup of tea to conceal his
astonishment.

"Theology!" he exclaimed. "The theology of hard work is what you will
find most of aboard ship. Carry on and do your duty; keep a sharp
lookout, all gear shipshape, salute the bridge when going on watch,
that is the whole duty of a good officer. That's plenty theology for a
seaman." But the skipper's eye turned brightly toward his bookshelves,
where he had several volumes of sermons, mostly of a Calvinist sort.

"I am not afraid of work," said Gissing. "But I'm looking for horizons.
In my work ashore I never could find any."

"Your horizon is likely to be peeling potatoes in the galley," remarked
the Captain. "I understand they are short-handed there. Or sweeping out
bunks in the steerage. Ethics of the dust! What would you say to that?"

"Sir," replied Gissing, "I shall be grateful for any task, however
menial, that permits me to meditate. I understand your point of view. By
coming aboard your ship I have broken the law, I have committed a
crime; but not a sin. Crime and sin, every theologian admits, are not
coextensive."

The Captain sailed head-on into argument.

"What?" he cried. "Are you aware of the doctrine of Moral Inability in a
Fallen State? Sit down, sit down, and have a cup of tea. We must discuss
this."

He rang for the steward and ordered an extra cup and a fresh supply of
toast. At that moment Gissing heard two quick strokes of a bell, rung
somewhere forward, a clear, musical, melancholy tone, echoed promptly
in other parts of the ship. "What is that, Captain?" he asked anxiously.
"An accident?"

"Two bells in the first dog-watch," said the Captain. "I fear you are as
much a lubber at sea as you are in theology."

The next two hours passed like a flash. Gissing found the skipper, in
spite of his occasional moods of austerity, a delicious companion. They
discussed Theosophy, Spiritualism, and Christian Science, all of which
the Captain, with sturdy but rather troubled vehemence, linked with
Primitive Magic. Gissing, seeing that his only hope of establishing
himself in the sailor's regard was to disagree and keep the argument
going, plunged into psycho-analysis and the philosophy of the
unconscious. Rather unwarily he ventured to introduce a nautical
illustration into the talk.