“What are you trying to do with the ship?”
And Mr. P—, who was not good at catching what was shouted in the wind, would say interrogatively:
“Yes, sir?”
Then in the increasing gale of the sea there would be a little private ship’s storm going on in which you could detect strong language, pronounced in a tone of passion and exculpatory protestations uttered with every possible inflection of injured innocence.
“By Heavens, Mr. P-! I used to carry on sail in my time, but—”
And the rest would be lost to me in a stormy gust of wind.
Then, in a lull, P—’s protesting innocence would become audible:
“She seems to stand it very well.”
And then another burst of an indignant voice:
“Any fool can carry sail on a ship—”