“Lookin’ fur the purser?” said Mr. Isaiah Joslin, grinning and holding on to a stanchion.
“No,” said Hildegarde, with some dignity.
Mr. Joslin accepted a graver view of life’s possibilities. “That feller’ll get a thrashin’ if he don’t look out.”
“The purser?”
“Yep.”
“Why—who will—?”
“That man up there’ll be attendin’ to it.” Mr. Joslin nodded toward the bridge. The Arctic Cap was scanning the misty world through Captain Gillies’ glass.
“Why should he? Besides, I thought he was an invalid.”
“Wa-al, maybe that’s it. P’raps he thinks it’d be good fur his health.”
“What would?”