"Bill," said the rolling-stone, with that catching smile of his, "shake hands. You're a white man, and I take it all back. It was just you talking of men's lives that roused my dander. I don't like to hear good sailormen talk about their lives like so many frightened land-crabs. I once went a yachting trip with three brass-bound, useless, chicken-hearted clothes-props, and I tell you I got a sickener of 'my precious life' talk.
"Things went well enough at first, when there was only just enough wind to keep us moving—though I had my hands full, what with cooking, steering, and doing all the dirty work; for though they were all three big men, they were so fat and flabby they couldn't pull their own weight on a rope or even hit a dent in a pat of butter; but we got a bit of a blow heading over to the French coast from Falmouth, and if ever I saw three badly scared, nerveless citizens, it was that crowd.
"The boat was a snug little yawl, and as I was pressing her through it pretty hard, things naturally got a bit wet, and now and again some green water lopped aboard.
"Well, after they'd had their first experience of a big dollop, they all turned on me.
"'Isn't it getting dangerous?' began the first uneasily.
"'Haven't we got too much sail for safety?' quavered the second.
"'Wouldn't it be risking our lives to go on?' stuttered the third. 'I'm afraid——'
"'Any fool could see that,' I broke in, as I shoved her nose into a lump of green water to cut short their chorus.
"After a good deal of spluttering they recovered sufficiently to give tongue again.
"'I'm wet through,' whimpered one. 'I must go below and change my things or I'll catch cold. D'you think it safe for me to leave the deck?'