Little Pye put up his glass. "I drink," said he, "to a prosperous voyage, Mr. Holgate, and to pleasant companions."
"Prosperous voyage," said the third officer wheezily, and I murmured something to the same effect.
"You say the old man's velvet," said Holgate, resuming his puffing.
"Well," said Pye, beaming through his glasses, "I wouldn't go so far as to say it, but he looks it. He looks kid-glove."
"I hate 'em," growled Holgate. "I've seen that kind on the ferry—all airs and aitches, and frosty as a berg."
"Well, of course, it would be much more satisfactory to be sailing under a real Tartar," remarked the little man with mild pleasantry.
Holgate cast him a glance which inquired, but was indifferent. "What's your idea, doctor?" he asked.
"I have none," said I, smiling. "I am much more interested in third officers."
His masklike face relaxed, and he stroked his black moustaches, and took a long pull of his cigar.
"That was very nice of you, doctor," he said, nodding with more cordiality.