"Yes," he answered casually. "But I had immediate reference to our current psychophysiological phenomenon."
I collapsed into the swivel in front of the chart table. "First off, let's hear what you know about—never mind, make it dogs."
"Take Bruce, for example, then—"
"No, thanks. I was wondering why you did."
"I didn't." His dark, round face was bland. "Bruce picked me. Followed me home one night in Chicago Port. The dog or the man who picks his own master is the most content."
"Bruce is content," I admitted. "He couldn't be any more content and still be alive. But I'm not sure that theory works out with men. We'd have anarchy if I tried to let these starbucks pick their own master."
"I had no trouble when I was a captain," Nagurski said. "Ease the reins on the men. Just offer them your advice, your guidance. They will soon see why the service selected you as captain; they will pick you themselves."
"Did your crew voluntarily elect you as their leader?"
"Of course they did, Gav. I'm an old hand at controlling crews."
"Then why are you First Officer under me now?"