Sears shook his head. "Oh, I wasn't tryin' to," he replied. "I was only wonderin' why you spoke of 'em as 'your' railroads. They aren't mine, you know. That is, any more than they are Judah's—or yours—or any other American's. No such luck."
Mr. Phillips coughed, smiled, coughed again, and then explained that he had used the word 'your' without thinking.
"I have been so long an—ah—shall I say exile, Captain Kendall," he observed, "that I have, I presume, fallen somewhat into the European habit of thinking and—ah—speaking. Habit is a peculiar thing, is it not?"
Mr. Cahoon, intensely interested in the conversation, evidently felt it his duty to contribute toward it.
"You're right there, Mr. Phillips," he announced, with emphasis. "Don't talk to me about habits! When a man's been to sea as long's I have he runs afoul of pretty nigh every kind of habit there is, seems so. Why, I knew a feller one time—down to Surinam 'twas—I was cook and steward aboard the old Highflyer—and this feller—he wan't a white man, nor he wan't all nigger nuther, kind of in between, one of them—er—er—octoreens, that's what he was—well, this feller he had the dumdest habit. Every day of his life, about the middle of the dog watch he'd up and——"
"Judah."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n Sears?"
"You'll be late down at the store, won't you?"
"Hey? Oh, I don't care how late I be. I don't know's I'm so dreadful partic'lar about goin' down there to-night, anyhow. Don't know but I'd just as live stay here."
"I'd go."