“I should think you’d be awfully bored with the long stories of shipwrecks that the people come and tell you.”
He hoped to change the conversation, because, although he wished to remain on good terms with the subordinate officers, it was not desirable that he should be led to say much against John J. Laylor.
“No, sir,” said the Shipwreck Clerk, “I am not bored. I did not come here to be bored, and as long as I have charge of this office I don’t intend to be. The long-winded old salts who come here to report their wrecks never spin out their prosy yarns to me. The first thing I do is to let them know just what I want of them; and not an inch beyond that does a man of them go, at least while I am managing the business. There are times when John J. Laylor comes in, and puts in his oar, and wants to hear the whole story; which is pure stuff and nonsense, for John J. Laylor doesn’t know anything more about a shipwreck than he does about—”
“The endemies in the Lake George area,” suggested Harry Covare.
“Yes; or any other part of his business,” said the Shipwreck Clerk; “and when he takes it into his head to interfere, all business stops till some second mate of a coal-schooner has told his whole story from his sighting land on the morning of one day to his getting ashore on it on the afternoon of the next. Now I don’t put up with any such nonsense. There’s no man living that can tell me anything about shipwrecks. I’ve never been to sea myself, but that’s not necessary; and if I had gone, it’s not likely I’d been wrecked. But I’ve read about every kind of shipwreck that ever happened. When I first came here I took care to post myself upon these matters, because I knew it would save trouble. I have read ‘Robinson Crusoe,’ ‘The Wreck of the “Grosvenor,”’ ‘The Sinking of the “Royal George,”’ and wrecks by water-spouts, tidal waves, and every other thing which would knock a ship into a cocked hat, and I’ve classified every sort of wreck under its proper head; and when I’ve found out to what class a wreck belongs, I know all about it. Now, when a man comes here to report a wreck, the first thing he has to do is just to shut down on his story, and to stand up square and answer a few questions that I put to him. In two minutes I know just what kind of shipwreck he’s had; and then, when he gives me the name of his vessel, and one or two other points, he may go. I know all about that wreck, and I make a much better report of the business than he could have done if he’d stood here talking three days and three nights. The amount of money that’s been saved to our taxpayers by the way I’ve systematized the business of this office is not to be calculated in figures.”
The brother-in-law of J. George Watts knocked the ashes from the remnant of his cigar, looked contemplatively at the coal for a moment, and then remarked:
“I think you said there’s no kind of shipwreck you don’t know about?”
“That’s what I said,” replied the Shipwreck Clerk.
“I think,” said the other, “I could tell you of a shipwreck, in which I was concerned, that wouldn’t go into any of your classes.”
The Shipwreck Clerk threw away the end of his cigar, put both his hands into his trousers pockets, stretched out his legs, and looked steadfastly at the man who had made this unwarrantable remark. Then a pitying smile stole over his countenance, and he said: “Well, sir, I’d like to hear your account of it; and before you get a quarter through I can stop you just where you are, and go ahead and tell the rest of the story myself.”