Staff grunted irritably and, picking his way through and over the mound of luggage, deposited himself on the transom opposite the berths.
“A present for the missis, I take it?” pursued Iff.
“You might take it, and welcome, for all of me.... Only it isn’t mine. And I am not married.”
“Pardon!” murmured Mr. Iff. “But if it isn’t yours,” he suggested logically, “what the deuce-and-all is it doing here?”
“I’m supposed to be taking it home for a friend.”
“Ah! I see.... A very, very dear friend, of course....?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Staff regarded the bandbox with open malevolence. “If I had my way,” he said vindictively, “I’d lift it a kick over the side and be rid of it.”
“How you do take on, to be sure,” Iff commented placidly. “If I may be permitted to voice my inmost thought: you seem uncommon’ peeved.”
“I am.”
“Could I soothe your vexed soul in any way?”