"Well, it's something to do with drink, anyway, by the look of it—whether he means he got drunk in dock, or drank the dock dry to be out of temptation, he's probably got delirium tremens by this time, and drunk the ship as well."
"Holm—you don't think he's gone off the rails again—honestly?" Bramsen jumped up from his couch and stood aghast.
"Well, whatever did you want to be such a fool for, Bramsen? Managing owner indeed—why, you've no more idea of managing than those coffee-bags."
"Ho, haven't I? And me been round the Horn and Cape of Good Hope as well, and nearly eaten by crocodiles in Bahia, dead of yellow fever, and all but burned in Rio, an ear with frostbite in the Arctic, been shooting monkeys in Mozambique."
"Monkey yourself, if you ask me."
"That may be; but, anyhow, you can't say I don't know anything about shipping. Your smart shipowners sitting all day in their offices and looking out places on the map, you suppose they know more about it than me that's been thirty years navigating on my own all over the torrential globe. I'm not good enough to manage a bit of a ship myself, eh? I'm a plain man, I know, but I'm no fool for all that, and I don't see what call you've got to go throwing wet blankets on all my deals and doings anyhow."
Bramsen was thoroughly offended now, and Holm found it difficult to bring him round.
"It's not that, Bramsen; you know I don't mean it that way. But I do think it's foolish of you to entrust your property to an irresponsible fellow like Johnsen."
"Well, what's a man to do when everything's going by the board all round? Ay, it's other little matters that's the trouble as well. I don't mind telling you, Knut, but, flay and fester me, you must swear you won't say a word to a soul."
"You know I can keep a secret, Bramsen."