The glitter of the roadstead went out, and the masts of anchored ships vanished in the invading shadow of a cloud.
“Drop it,” whispered Jorgenson.
“I am in debt,” said Lingard, slowly, and stood still.
“Drop it!”
“Never dropped anything in my life.”
“Drop it!”
“By God, I won't!” cried Lingard, stamping his foot.
There was a pause.
“I was like you—once,” repeated Jorgenson. “Five and thirty years—never dropped anything. And what you can do is only child's play to some jobs I have had on my hands—understand that—great man as you are, Captain Lingard of the Lightning. . . . You should have seen the Wild Rose,” he added with a sudden break in his voice.
Lingard leaned over the guard-rail of the pier. Jorgenson came closer.