"I am," said Captain Image patiently. He always flattered himself that he left the more eloquent parts of his speech at Sierra Leone on each trip north, and picked them up again there next voyage for vigorous use on the Coast. It was his pride that he conformed most suitably to Liverpool's sedate atmosphere. "I admire Miss Kate as a lady more than anyone I know, and if she were only twenty years older, and I could afford it, I wouldn't mind going in for her myself. But it's her business ideas, as she showed them over that factory of Edmondson's, that I can't stand. The way she stuck up the rent on you, me lad, is the limit. Why, if that sort of thing went on, nobody would be safe. It's Oil-Trust morals. I'm Welsh myself, but I do draw the line somewhere."
"What, Welsh?" said Carter politely. "I should never have guessed it."
"I am," said Captain Image with sturdy truth, "and many times, look you, I am proud of it. Which reminds me that little red-bearded Kettle that you employed to run your launch and the mine is Welsh also. I don't want to go against a fellow-countryman who's down on his luck, but I saw him with my own eyes give old Kallee an illustrated methody tract on bigamy when he was on the M'poso, and if His Portliness finds anyone kind enough to translate it for him, there'll be the devil to pay. Kallee's black, but he's a king, and he's not the kind to let any man tamper with his domestic happiness. Now about Slade——"
"We'll drop Slade. He's Miss O'Neill's man. If Miss O'Neill chooses to amuse herself by gunning for me, that's her concern. But I don't shoot back."
Captain Image shook his head sadly. "Well, me lad, if you won't lift a hand to help yourself, I don't see there's anything more to be said." He put his pipe in his pocket, stood up and prepared to go. "Oh, by the way, did anyone tell you about old Swizzle-Stick Smith?"
"Not dead, is he?"
"Lord bless you, no, me lad. Very much the reverse. Look here, what was your idea of that man?"
"In what way?"
"What was he before he became the disreputable old palm oil ruffian you first knew at Malla-Nulla?"
"Oh, I suppose he was less disreputable once. He'd let himself drift, that's all. One does get into frightfully slack ways in those lonely factories."