rked the exceeding tightness of the bowler hat he was
carrying; and the shining protuberances on his black boots showed that
they were tight, too. It was manifestly out of the question that he
should be able to walk any distance. Though he had driven in a cab to
the shipowner's house, he was already breathless with exertion, and he
rolled so heavily in his gait that his shoulders hit both sides of the
doorway while entering the room. Yet he was nimble withal, a man
capable of swift and sure movement within a limited area, therein
resembling a bull, or a hippopotamus.

The hospitable Verity pushed forward the mahogany box and the decanter.

"Glad to see you, Jimmie, my boy. Sit yourself down. 'Ave a cigar an'
a glass o' port. I didn't expect you quite so soon, but you're just as
welcome now as later."

Captain Coke placed his hat on top of a malacca cane, and balanced both
against the back of a chair.

"I'll take a smoke but no wine, thankee, Mr. Verity," said he. "I kem
along now' 'coss I want to be aboard afore it's dark. We're moored in
an awkward place."

"Poor owd _Andromeeda_! Just 'er usual luck, eh, Jimmie?"

"Well, she ain't wot you might call one of fortune's fav'rits, but
she's afloat, an' that's more'n you can say for a good many
daisy-cutters I've known."

Verity chuckled.

"Some ships are worth less afloat than ashore, an' she's one of 'em,"
he grinned. "You want a match. 'Ere you are!"

Whether Coke was wishful to deny or admit the _Andromeda's_
shortcomings--even the ship herself might have protested against the
horror of a long "e" in the penultimate syllable of her name--the other
man's rapid proffer of a light stopped him. He puffed away in silence;
there was an awkward pause; for once in his career, Verity regretted
his cultivated trick of covering up a significant phrase by quickly
adding some comment on a totally different subject. But the sailor
smoked on, stolidly heedless of a sudden lapse in the conversation, and
the shipowner was compelled to start afresh. He was far too shrewd to
go straight back to the topic burked by his own error. His
sledge-hammer methods might be crude to the verge of brutality where
Iris was concerned, but they were capable of nice adjustment in the
case of wary old sea-dogs of the Coke type.

"It's stuffy in 'ere with the two of us smokin'--let's stroll into the
garden," he said.

Coke was agreeable. He liked gardens; they were a change fro